


Handful of Aces, Pocketful of Nines

by adoctoraday



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bill/Nancy, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Repressed Idiots In Love, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/adoctoraday
Summary: Holden has a secret he’s held onto since he was a child. He’s learned to keep it in, to be a good son and a good man, a man who will marry a pretty girl and settle down with a family.Bill already has a pretty girl and a family, but he’s half dead inside, dying behind his white picket fence and polite smile.Long days on the road breed friendship, intimacy, and eventually, something more.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 51
Kudos: 132





	Handful of Aces, Pocketful of Nines

**Author's Note:**

> EEEEEE this is my first foray into this ship and I love it so much! I’m so excited to be sharing this with you all, I truly hope you enjoy it!!

Holden is twelve when he sees two men embracing each other in a photograph, their shirtless torsos pressed together just as firmly as their lips. 

His gaze is stuck on the way their hands touch each other, caressing and gentle,  _ tender,  _ like they  _ love _ each other. 

His mother finds him with it and slaps him, the sting of her hand lingering on his cheek as she makes him kneel on grains of rice under the watchful eye of the crucified Christ on the hallway wall. 

He doesn’t tell her that he found it in his father’s toolbox in the shed. Even now he knows that it’s dangerous, to say where he got it, this thing that’s filthy and  _ wrong.  _ If it wasn’t terrible, if  _ he  _ wasn’t terrible then his insides wouldn’t be crawling with shame and he wouldn’t be sick with a belly full of longing for something he’s too scared to name. 

What he learns that day is that it is something to be ashamed of, to be hidden and locked away. 

So he does. 

With every year that passes he hides more of himself; buttons himself up behind neat and tidy suits, hair combed back and styled perfectly, the handsome young son with a bright future. He goes to church and dates good, sweet girls, learns to kiss them and date them and hides the fact that beneath the surface he’s swallowing down oceans of unhappiness. 

He pretends at revulsion when homosexuality is the topic of conversation, keeps his gaze averted when he sees gays on the street, and firmly tells himself that he feels  _ nothing _ when he sees his best friend’s older brother shirtless at the pool. 

He lies and lies and lies until the lies become all he knows, until they become the truth. 

He goes to college and applies for the FBI, and then,  _ then _ he’s out on his own with no parental oversight for the first time in  _ years.  _ The freedom is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

He goes to bars after work and watches people, wondering how it’s so easy for near strangers to just  _ talk  _ to each other. He wishes it was that easy for him, but every time he tries he flounders like a fish on the beach, gasping wide eyed, skin clammy and cold. 

He sips his beer and goes home alone, time and time again. 

He lays in bed at night, lonely and empty and he doesn’t know how to change it, how to change  _ himself  _ without losing his death grip on who he is, who he  _ has _ been for years. He doesn’t know how to keep going on like this, being lonely and afraid and so withdrawn into himself that he doesn’t even have  _ friends _ . 

He makes a promise to himself that the next time he goes out, he’ll talk to just  _ one _ new person. 

That’s how he meets Grant, a homicide detective who is just a few years past forty, as lonely and hollow as Holden is, stuck in a loveless, childless marriage that bears only bitterness and melancholy as the years pass. 

Their friendship is fast and immediate, but Holden doesn’t know what to do with the  _ looks  _ Grant gives him, or the way his touch lingers too long. He pretends like he doesn’t  _ see _ , like he doesn’t notice, like it doesn’t affect him. 

He doesn’t know what to  _ do _ and it’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying. 

Their first kiss is clumsy and nervous, teeth bumping and noses brushing and Holden flushes at his own inadequacy, but Grant is a patient man who just laughs softly and tilts his chin so the next time their lips meet it’s soft and sweet and tastes like the cherry from Holden’s Sidecar. 

They cling together in the purple shadows of twilight that swamp the alleyway behind Holden’s apartment, bodies pressed so tightly together it's hard to tell one apart from the other. Grant’s hands loosen his tie and muss his hair, determined to strip away the facade that Holden clings so desperately to with both hands. 

His lips and teeth on tender skin leave Holden starry eyed and gasping, this new pleasure filling him like floodwaters rushing into a dry riverbed. 

_ Christ, the  _ **_sounds_ ** _ you make baby,  _ Grant whispers into his ear and Holden flushes deeply, embarrassed by his clumsy eager passion that rises so quickly to the surface. 

They fall into an affair quickly, heedlessly,  _ totally _ . 

When Grant takes him,  _ fucks him,  _ for the first time Holden chokes on sobs, knuckles white as he clings to his headboard and tries to quiet his cries. Nothing has ever felt like this before, and with each thrust he feels a little piece of his mask crack. 

This is who he  _ really  _ is. 

So often they lay in sweaty sheets after clashing together, skin cooling as they talk in hushed tones about the future, pretending like they could have one together when they both know full well it will never happen. 

Holden has never been happier, even as he hides this part of himself away and pretends to date nice girls from church, assuring his mom he’ll settle down when he’s ready even as he’s laying in bed with Grant, fingers tangled together.

It’s all blown apart a year later when Grant is killed during an arrest and Holden is once again profoundly  _ alone _ . He watches from a distance as Grant’s wife weeps at the graveside, surrounded by Grant’s fellow officers, friends and family. 

He’s on the edges, hiding in the shadows of the great oak trees that tower overhead, watching as the man he loves is lowered into the cold hard ground. 

The words of the priest reach him on the warm breeze, words of God’s eternal love, of Grant’s place in Heaven being assured, and suddenly he can’t breathe, can’t hear anything beyond the thundering of his heart in his ears. 

Cold sweat swamps him and he stumbles away, tripping and crawling till he’s hidden behind the bole of a large oak tree, chest heaving as he sobs, tears blurring his vision. 

Grant is gone and Holden is  _ alone _ . 

He applies for a hostage negotiation position in Virginia three days later and a few months after that his apartment in Chicago is empty and hollow, just like Holden. Holden stares at the barren mattress he’d spent so many hours on with Grant, and in that moment promises himself he won’t ever indulge in his predilections again. 

His mother was right, homosexuality is destructive, dangerous and deadly. 

* * *

“Holden? Holden Ford?” 

He turns to look at the call of his name and swallows hard when his heart skips a beat at the sight of the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. A weathered face creases into a cautious smile and Holden remembers he’s supposed to  _ say something _ in return. 

He’s not sure  _ what _ he says, but then the man,  _ Bill _ , is following him to his table and smirking faintly as he tells Holden that he’s a blue-flamer and invites him along for Road School, tells him that maybe they can learn something from each other with a knowing smile that makes Holden’s belly warm. 

Those bright blue eyes pierce him, pin him in place and he fights the urge to squirm, cheeks heating up even as he tries to prevent it. He pretends he doesn’t feel it, pushes it down and locks it away as he adjusts his tie nervously. 

This man is dangerous. 

He makes Holden  _ feel _ things he’s been trying to ignore, and it makes panic swell up in his throat. He swallows it down hard and agrees to this new venture with Bill, praying desperately that he’s not making a mistake. 

_ Please god,  _ he prays,  _ let me be good, let me be  _ **_normal._ **

God he thinks, isn’t in the business of answering prayers. 

* * *

Headlights pour through the cheap blinds of the motel, flowing across the walls like water while Bill whispers soft words to his wife, voice low and hoarse and unbearably  _ tender _ . 

It makes Holden ache deep inside where he’s been hollowed out and left empty. 

The plastic clicking of the receiver makes Holden swallow thickly, emotion rising up like a tide in his throat. The sheets whisper softly as Bill crawls into his bed with a soft groan, the rustle of over-washed cotton a quiet susurration in the air. 

Holden stares at the cheap motel wallpaper, counting the minutes as Bill’s breathing slows and steadies. He’s dry mouthed with yearning want and his chest hurts from how badly he aches for his partner. 

During the day he pushes it down, hides it, pretends it doesn’t exist, but here, in the liminal space between darkness and dawn, he allows himself the tiny indulgence of  _ feeling.  _

He recalls the heavy weight of Bill’s hand on his shoulder, the way it gripped him firmly, the way he’d been able to smell nicotine and coffee on Bill’s breath as it washed against his neck from behind him. He’d repressed a shudder but been unable to do anything about the goosebumps that had risen on his skin, an unwitting indicator of his  _ want.  _

Come morning he’ll dress and button up his disguise, put his mask back on to hide himself from the world, but here, in the shadows, he lets himself think about what it would be like to hear Bill whisper  _ his _ name with the sort of reverence he reserves for his wife. 

Tears burn in his eyes and wipes at them angrily. 

It’s no good thinking about these things, in the end it only brings more heartache. 

Holden rolls over and stares at Bill’s weathered face, relaxed and peaceful in sleep, till he too drifts off as the sky begins to turn grey with dawn. 

* * *

Debbie is part of his facade now, though he does like her, enjoys spending time with her. She’s smart and pushes him to be better, and he thinks  _ maybe I could marry her. Maybe I could be happy.  _

It’s just another lie to add to the pile.

When he uses their relationship to gain Kemper’s trust, Bill scowls at him and shakes his head, annoyed that Holden would give this psychotic man such personal information. 

Holden doesn’t know how to tell him it’s all a lie, so he keeps his mouth shut and lets Bill be upset with him. 

That night in the motel he lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he recalls the heavy weight of Kemper’s hand on his shoulder, thick and meaty as he held Holden still and had shown Bill what “ear to ear” meant. 

His finger had drawn across Holden’s throat, deliberately, pointedly and Holden had gone as still as a rabbit in front of a fox, pinned in place by the steady gaze of a predator. He had seen Bill go tense out of the corner of his eye as Kemper kept touching him, and then when he’d finally been released they’d shared a brief glance and Holden had swallowed down the urge to bolt. 

He wasn’t prey. 

Still, he can’t help himself when he draws his fingertips over his throat,  _ ear to ear,  _ skin shivering at the delicate touch. He feels a heavy gaze on him and rolls his head to find Bill watching him, curiosity and something else burning in his gaze as he talks to his wife. 

Those stormy blue eyes flicker down to Holden’s throat for a moment before looking away and Holden flushes, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly exposed. He tugs the sheets up over him, tucking them under his chin as he rolls to his side and wills himself to go to sleep. 

The quiet rasp of Bill’s voice lulls him asleep, and his dreams are filled with the gentle violence of hands on his throat while blue eyes watch him writhe and moan. 

He wakes up hard and filled with shame. 

* * *

The police precinct is loud and bright, filled with the scent of cheap whiskey and smoke. They’re celebrating catching a killer and Holden can’t help the way his gaze keeps going to Bill. His sleeves are rolled up so his strong forearms are exposed and he’s got a happy grin on his face as he downs another beer and lights up another cigarette. 

Holden feels out of place, as usual, and maybe Bill can tell because he’s been smiling warmly at Holden all night, touching him and pulling him close as he tells tales to the men surrounding them. 

A firm grip at the nape of his neck almost sends Holden to his knees and he waves it off, joking about too much to drink, but when he looks up at Bill, he sees something there in his eyes that looks a lot like curiosity and perhaps recognition.

The arm that goes around his shoulders makes him flush even harder, but he doesn’t shrug it off. It stays there as he helps Bill to the car and into the passenger seat for once, a faint smile on his lips as Bill starts singing loudly and off key along with Johnny Cash. 

He’s breathless as he helps Bill up the stairs to their room—Bill has a good few inches and probably twenty pounds on him, and by the time the door shuts behind him there’s sweat on his back and he’s starting to think maybe he needs to do more than just run every morning. 

Bill trips and laughs as they tumble onto the bed, groaning when Holden’s elbow knocks into his ribs by accident. 

“Jeez kid, watch it,” he laughs, grinning as he nudges Holden back. 

Their legs are twisted and tangled and they’re pressed together, Holden’s chest against Bill’s side, and as Bill’s laughter dies, Holden sees a glimmer of something in his eyes that makes his heart skip faster. Bill looks at him and Holden feels stripped naked, raw and trembling as he waits to be consumed.

“You did good Holden,” Bill murmurs raspily, voice thick from nicotine and booze. “Did real good,” he sighs, the praise apparently coming easier with intoxication. 

It makes Holden’s head spin and his throat go dry. He licks his lips nervously and feels his heart stutter when Bill’s intense gaze flicks down to his mouth for a long long moment. 

“Thank you Bill,” he whispers, words barely audible. 

Cloudy blue eyes lift to meet Holden’s, steady and intense like a snake charming innocent prey. Bill’s hand lifts, and for a breathless moment Holden thinks he’ll touch his face, but the fingers move past his cheek and delve into his hair, mussing it and tugging on it as Bill grins loosely. 

“Don’t look like a Mormon anymore,” he teases, teeth white as he laughs softly. 

Holden’s heart hammers in his chest as he laughs weakly and pushes Bill’s hand away, moving to sit up and shift away. “Thanks,” he murmurs sarcastically, hands trembling as he kneels and pulls Bill’s shoes and socks off and sets them aside. 

“Can you do the rest?” he asks lightly, grinning like he’s teasing, stomach clenching as he waits for the sword to fall on his neck, waits for the words that will either condemn him or set him free. 

Bill waves a hand lazily and scoffs, “I’m a big boy Holden, I got this.”

He says nothing in response, just grabs his pajamas and heads to the small bathroom to brush his teeth and change. By the time he comes back out Bill is face down in the sheets, stripped all the way down to his boxers. 

Holden turns off the lights and adjusts the curtains as Bill snores, careless of the feelings he’s aroused in Holden’s heart. 

A faint sliver of moonlight falls across the bed and Holden can see a constellation of freckles and moles on Bill’s back that his fingers ache to trace and map out. Instead of touching he turns away and climbs into his own bed, head painfully clear of alcohol. 

He lays awake for a very long time. 

* * *

He’s supposed to be meeting Bill for a drink after work but the other man is already ten minutes late and Holden is starting to think he’s been stood up.

_ No, not stood up,  _ he admonishes himself, because that implies this is a date and it’s not—it’s two straight male coworkers having a drink and relaxing after a long week of work. 

Still, as the minutes tick by and he’s still here alone, disappointment swoops through his belly sickeningly. Sighing, he finishes his beer and stares contemplatively at the Irish whiskey he’d gotten for Bill. 

Just as he’s bringing the glass to his lips a tall figure appears in his periphery, but when he turns his head to look it’s not Bill. The man is tall, taller than him and Bill, and well built, with muscles that gleam in the low light and a smile that’s devilishly handsome. 

“Looks like you’ve been stood up,” the man observes, lifting a brow at the empty seat where Bill is supposed to be, gaze flickering to the glass of whiskey in Holden’s hand. He doesn’t really know what to say, so he just shrugs a shoulder and ducks his head, aware that there’s a burn of blush on his cheeks. 

“Mind if I join you?” the man asks and Holden waves a hand in compliance, still quiet as he studies the man through his lashes. The man offers his hand with a bright white smile, “Jerome,” he offers by way of introduction. 

Holden takes his hand and shakes it firmly, “Holden.”

Jerome smiles at him and sets down his own drink—something coppery and sharp smelling, bourbon if Holden’s not mistaken. “So Holden, why would a girl pass up a date with a handsome guy like you?” he asks, smirking at Holden over the rim of his glass. 

It’s a look loaded with meaning and his voice is low and suggestive, warm in a way that makes Holden’s skin feel too hot. Holden swallows and shrugs a shoulder again, his mother’s voice in his head screaming at him that a shrug is the gesture of a lazy man. 

He sits up a little straighter and meets Jerome’s gaze, “It’s more of a work thing. My colleague said he’d be here and hasn’t shown yet. Probably has to go home to his wife and kid instead,” he murmurs, careful to keep his tone neutral.

He’s seen Nancy briefly in the mornings when he picks Bill up before they go to the airport and she seems nice enough, but even he, an idiot at normalcy, can tell there’s something wrong between she and Bill. 

Bill’s comment from when they were in Sacramento months ago rings in his ears. 

_ Guys in unhappy marriages have hair triggers. They lash out. Especially when it comes to women. _

It’s not like he hadn’t  _ known— _ all the late night calls and strained conversations, but still, to hear the truth in Bill’s voice and see the pain in his eyes had made Holden pause for a moment and wonder if maybe that night in the hotel really  _ had  _ been something more. 

Jerome lifts a brow, “So not a date then, hmm,” he hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping against the side of the glass. Holden shakes his head and sips on Bill’s whiskey, daring himself to meet Jerome’s gaze steadily. The other man grins at him, “Well then that’s good for me I suppose,” he murmurs with a wink that has Holden’s insides squirming. 

He’s frankly a little shocked that Jerome is flirting so openly with him, but he supposes that with times changing, it’s less dangerous than it was all those years ago when he’d met Grant. 

Holden smiles faintly in reply and nods, finger tracing around the rim of the glass, “What brought you over here to talk to me?” he asks softly, “how could you be sure I’m…” he trails off and gives Jerome a significant look that has the other man smirking faintly. 

“I’ve seen you here before, with that older guy—your colleague?” he guesses, grinning when Holden just nods. “Yea, you give him the saddest puppy eyes when you think he’s not lookin,” Jerome murmurs.

Panic wells up in Holden because  _ shit,  _ if a stranger can see his feelings then Bill  _ definitely  _ can and that’s  _ bad.  _ It must show on his face because Jerome lays a hand on the table between them, a concerned look on his face, “Hey, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says gently, “I don’t think he’s noticed, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Holden sucks in a shaky breath and gulps down a large mouthful of whiskey, wincing at the burn in his throat as it travels down and settles in his chest. He can feel Jerome’s gaze on him and when he looks up he finds the other man’s eyes are soft and understanding. 

“It’s fine,” he lies, smiling tightly in what he’s sure is more a grimace than an expression of pleasure. Jerome doesn’t say anything, just nods slowly, dark eyes studying Holden intently. 

“So what do you do for work?” Jerome asks softly and Holden is intensely grateful for the change in topic. He swallows down the last of Bill’s whiskey and sets the glass down slowly on the sticky wood of the table, rolling it between his fingers thoughtfully.

“I work in the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit. We talk to killers to learn about the motives behind their murders so we can try to understand current and future killers that haven’t been caught.”

Jerome’s brows rise sharply, “Wow, that sounds interesting,” he murmurs, and Holden is thrilled by the genuine interest in the man’s voice. “So you sit face to face with killers all day?” he asks, sounding curious. 

Holden nods and waves at the bartender for two more drinks before turning his gaze back to Jerome, “It’s fascinating,” he agrees, smiling faintly, “it makes you look at everyone around you differently,” he murmurs, gaze flickering over Jerome and then the crowd. 

Jerome grins and taps his nails against his empty glass, “Oh? Well tell me then Mr. FBI Man, what do you see when you look at me?” he asks teasingly, full lips split into a warm grin that makes Holden flush pleasantly. 

Holden finds himself smiling back, a warm feeling glowing in his chest as they stare at each other for a long heady moment. Clearing his throat, he smiles politely at the server who sets two more glasses of alcohol on the table and then disappears. 

“Well?” Jerome prods, lifting a brow as he sips his drink, lips glistening in the low light after, and Holden can’t help the way his gaze lingers for a long long moment. Flushing, he ducks his head and clears his throat, embarrassed at his weakness. 

“Holden!” 

At the sound of Bill’s voice his head comes up to find the older man working through a knot of people with a disgruntled look on his face. Bill pauses at the edge of the booth, looking curiously between Holden and Jerome before he extends a hand in greeting, “Bill Tench,” he says with a smile. 

“Jerome Watts.”

“You a friend of Holden’s?” Bill asks, lingering at the edge of the booth till Holden slides over against the wall and makes room for him to sit. Bill nods his thanks and settles in beside him, his jacket and tie filling the space between them. 

“Mmm not yet,” Jerome says with a laugh, “I wrongly assumed he was being stood up and came to offer my moral support,” he tells Bill, gaze flickering between them for a brief moment before he grins, “and just now Holden was going to tell me what he sees when he looks at me. Profile me, I guess you’d say.”

Bill shifts to look at Holden with an amused smirk, lifting a brow at Holden’s sheepish look. “Well?” he prods, like he thinks Holden is going to back down. 

Holden shoots him a  _ look _ and then turns back to Jerome, letting the mindset he normally reserves for killers settle over him. He studies Jerome’s clothing, the close cut black hair and neatly trimmed beard, noting the scars on his knuckles and the smear of grease under his nails. 

He settles back, shoulders squaring and taps his index finger against his glass idly, “You’re between 32 and 36, single with no kids and work in a blue collar job. Likely as a mechanic or engineer given the grease under your nails and the calluses on your hands,” he murmurs, pointing at Jerome’s hands. “You’re educated—I’d guess a technical school given your profession. You’re not a local, I’d say you grew up in Louisiana with that accent,” he guesses. 

He can see Bill smirking out of the corner of his eye and how Jerome looks mildly impressed so he presses onward, “You’re former military,” he says, gesturing to the Marines tattoo on the inside of Jerome’s forearm, “I’m guessing you’re the eldest of three siblings, raised by a single mother,” he continues, smirking faintly when Jerome’s brows rise in shock. 

Holden leans back and lifts a brow, “So how did I do?” he asks playfully, a heat in his veins that he forcefully attributes to the alcohol and  _ not  _ the impressed look on Jerome’s face. 

“You got me man,” Jerome says with a low laugh, dark eyes sparkling with humor. He sips his drink and casts an assessing gaze over Holden, “I doubt I’d be able to glean as much if I tried that on you,” he murmurs. 

“You’re welcome to try,” Holden teases, smirking playfully as he takes another sip of whiskey. 

Bill’s hands landing on his shoulder makes him jump and he looks over when the grip goes almost painfully tight. Bill is smiling at Jerome, but there’s something about it that’s  _ off,  _ like it’s a challenge instead of a friendly expression and it sends a shiver over Holden’s spine. 

“Anything you wanna know, I can tell you,” Bill murmurs, gaze intent and challenging, almost, and for the life of him Holden can’t figure out what’s going on. Jerome looks more thoughtful than surprised, gaze landing on where Bill’s hand is  _ still  _ on his shoulder and Holden feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

He’s not sure why Bill is acting like he’s challenging Jerome, but it’s enough to annoy him into shrugging the hand off and smiling at Jerome, “I’m sure we’ll have time to get to know each other,” he suggests, “I’m a pretty open book.”

Jerome nods and glances between them for a moment before tossing back the last of his drink and smiling regretfully, “Another time,” he agrees, gaze slipping away from Holden to Bill. His smile changes and he offers a hand, “It was nice to meet you Bill,” he murmurs, shaking Bill’s hand before sliding out of the booth and nodding at Holden. 

“I’ll see you around,” he says, like it’s a promise, and Holden just nods, waving weakly even as Jerome turns and walks away through the crowd. Holden watches him go, annoyance and disappointment writhing in his belly like snakes, the whiskey turning bitter in his gut. 

“Friendly guy,” Bill mutters, “you practicing your moon eyes on him so you can be coy with Kemper and get what you want?” 

Holden goes stiff at the implications of that question, fear and rage swelling up within him that maybe Bill has figured out his secret. God, if that happened he’d never be able to live with the shame. 

He elbows Bill sharply and glares at him sideways, “It wasn’t like that,” he snaps, swallowing down more whiskey because why not? He’s already tipsy, he might as well get all the way to drunk if Bill is going to be like this. 

Bill scoffs, “I think I recognize flirting when I see it,” he mutters. 

Holden goes painfully still, panic thundering through his veins, chest frozen as his lungs struggle to work properly. 

“I—it wasn’t like that,” he repeats, desperately swallowing down the last of his whiskey and wishing immediately that he had more. 

“Then what  _ was _ it like?” Bill murmurs, gaze piercing and so blue it takes Holden’s breath away. He’s studying Holden in the way he reserves for their subjects and it sends a shiver of something down his spine he’s unwilling to identify right now. 

Holden lifts his glass and pauses when he sees its empty, swallowing hard as he sets it down and composes himself. “It was just friendly conversation,” he says mildly before nudging Bill, “please move, I need to use the restroom,” he murmurs, giving Bill a pointed look when the older man refuses to move right away. 

Bill doesn’t say anything to that, just nods and shifts out of the booth, standing aside politely as Holden walks away through the crowd to the dingy hallway where the bathrooms are. 

The whole way there he can feel Bill’s heavy gaze on him, stripping him bare and studying what lies beneath the carefully crafted facade that Holden’s spent a lifetime creating. 

It leaves him feeling weak and shivery with battling emotions; wanting and fear tangling together inside his chest till it feels like he can’t see straight. 

He spends the rest of the night drinking water and carrying on carefully worded conversation with Bill, his facade carefully bricked back into place. Bill probes at it occasionally but eventually lets it drop, even if his stunning blue eyes study Holden like he wants to take him apart and figure him out. 

Later when he’s back home and alone in his bed, it’s those same eyes that he pictures watching him, studying him as he touches himself, moaning Bill’s name softly until he comes all over his belly and thighs. 

Breathing unsteadily, he closes his eyes and swallows past the heavy knot of shame in his throat. 

He needs to get over this, over Bill, because it’s killing him slowly, death by a thousand cuts, each more devastating than the last. 

Wiping his mess away leaves him flushed with shame and he rolls over to bury his face in the pillows. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll start training himself not to want Bill. 

He’ll be good.

Normal.

* * *

They’re on their way back from Altoona when the accident happens. It’s so fast Holden doesn’t have time to process what’s happening, head ringing so badly he can’t hear what Bill asks him, so he just nods numbly. 

It’s only later when they’re at the bar that he starts to notice his ribs throbbing heavily alongside the headache between his temples as he tries to convince Debbie to come and get them, frustration growing as she patiently explains she has class and can’t come till later. 

He’s short with her, he knows it, but he can’t help himself. 

When he gets back to the bar he sees a glass of whiskey and points to it, “Is that for me?” he asks, murmuring “Thanks,” when Bill nods silently. “Debbie says hi.” 

Bill nods and rolls his glass between his fingers, gaze glassy and distant, and Holden feels a twinge of concern for his friend and colleague. 

“It's fine. As soon as class is over, she'll come down,” he tells Bill, situating himself on the stool, wincing when his ribs ache and throb. 

“She says she'd rather us get a room so she can pick us up in the morning,” he tells Bill, sipping his own whiskey as the other man nods blankly. “I'm a little ticked off. I get Debbie doesn't want to do all that driving, but we have a situation here. I'm asking her for help,” he mutters, taking another swallow of whiskey. 

“Okay, she's got midterms and that's on her mind, but…” he exhales heavily and shakes his head, confused over his own emotions. “Why am I so upset?” he whispers, more to himself than anything else. 

“Maybe 'cause she can't drop everything when you call,” Bill responds softly. 

“Because she doesn't  _ want _ to,” Holden murmurs thoughtfully.

“Here you go,” the bartender says as he slides plates full of steak and potatoes in front of them. 

“One more, please,” Bill murmurs, nodding his thanks when the empty glass in front of him is filled up seconds later. 

“You want to call Nancy?” Holden suggests softly, peering sideways at Bill’s stoic figure. The older man inhales slowly but doesn’t say anything, gaze still distant, brow furrowed deeply. 

Holden watches with concern as Bill breathes slowly, controlled in and out gusts of air, his bright blue eyes glossy with emotion. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, worry gnawing at his gut. He itches to reach out and touch Bill, to try and bring him back from this place he’s gone to, but he carefully keeps his hands to himself.

“Or we could just eat,” he murmurs, reaching for his whiskey as he tries to push aside the concern he feels for Bill and assures himself that the older man is  _ fine.  _

“I didn't see it coming, Holden.”

The words are rough and low, heavy with emotion and Holden turns to look at Bill in surprise, even more shocked when he sees how upset Bill looks, like he’s on the edge of breaking down. 

“You could've been  _ killed _ , and I didn't see it coming,” Bill breathes, shaking his head slowly. His gaze lifts to break his thousand yard stare and meets Holden’s, eyes too bright and filled with pain. 

Heart galloping in his chest, Holden inhales shakily, “I’m fine,” he assures Bill, hand clenching tightly around his glass to keep himself from reaching out. Bill shakes his head, brow furrowed deeply as he swallows hard, looking confused and  _ hurt _ and oh, Holden  _ aches _ to touch him. 

“It's one thing if it's the job,” Bill whispers, “But some fucking Pinto comes shooting out of nowhere…” he trails off, voice growing thick and emotional and Holden finally gives in, reaching across the short distance between them to grip Bill’s forearm firmly. Stormy blue eyes meet his and Bill’s breathing hitches softly, lips trembling for a moment as they gaze at each other. 

“I’m okay,” Holden whispers, “I promise.”

Bill nods but appears unable to speak, jaw clenching and flexing as he looks away and gulps down whiskey. Holden lets his hand linger as long as he thinks he can get away with before letting his fingers slip away, immediately missing the warmth of Bill’s skin under his touch. 

Silence fills the space between them as they finish their meal, elbows nudging occasionally, the small point of contact making Holden’s heart thrum faster each time it happens. Bill tosses down a few bills and then guides him out of the bar with a hand at the small of his back that makes Holden breathless, itching to be touched skin to skin. 

They walk a few blocks down to a small sleepy motel and get a room for the night and despite it only being just past six, Holden is exhausted. His head throbs painfully in time with his ribs, and he regrets not letting the EMT’s check him out so he could at least get some painkillers. He undresses slowly, wincing as he shrugs out of his suit jacket, watching from the corner of his eye as Bill does the same. 

Biting back a groan, he takes off his dress shirt, gaze caught as something shiny falls from the fabric. Bending down carefully, he picks it up and stares at the tiny shard of glass that must have been caught in his collar, rolling it around in his palm before he turns his hand over flat, letting it fall away into the trash can. 

“ _ Jesus Holden _ ,” Bill curses from across the room and then suddenly he’s there, hand settling tentatively on Holden’s ribs, blue eyes wide and concerned. Holden glances down and isn’t surprised to see that his whole right side is purple as an eggplant beneath Bill’s hand. His skin feels hot against the coolness of Bill’s palm, the touch soothing and gentle. 

“It’s fine,” he whispers, lifting his chin to meet Bill’s worried gaze. Bill shakes his head and takes his wrist, draws him over to the light, gaze steady and assessing as he starts touching Holden’s ribs delicately. He pauses when Holden hisses between his teeth, gaze flickering up, sharp and knowing. 

“You breathing ok?” Bill asks softly, hand shifting again to press against his belly. Holden represses a shudder at the feeling of being touched so intimately, reminding himself that this is merely a friend making sure he’s not bleeding out internally. 

He nods and gives Bill a self assured smile, “It’s fine, I’m just bruised,” he assures Bill softly, hand falling to cover Bill’s where it rests against the flat plane of his stomach. Bill stares intently at him, emotion running riot over his face, throat working hard before he shakes his head and looks away, breathing unsteadily. 

“Christ Holden,” he whispers raspily, “you should have said something. You should be in the hospital.”

Emotion clogs Holden’s throat for a moment at the pain in Bill’s voice, but when he speaks he’s pleased to find his voice is steady. “I’m okay,” he whispers, “hey,” he murmurs, drawing Bill’s gaze back with a press of his fingers against Bill’s wrist, “I promise, I’m fine.”

Bill doesn’t look convinced at all, if anything, he looks even more conflicted and upset. “I should have seen it  _ coming _ ,” he whispers intently, “I should have--”

“Hey, don’t do that,” Holden refutes, shaking his head, “there’s no way you could have seen this coming. It was just an accident.”

Bill stares at him intently, eyes too bright as his lips press together into a tight line. His fingers on Holden’s ribs flex gently and he shakes his head faintly, “I’m going to the pharmacy to get something to wrap them with,” he replies, holding up a hand as Holden opens his mouth to protest. “No, if I can’t do anything to stop you from getting hurt, I’m damn sure going to make sure you’re taken care of.”

Bill steps away and nods to the bathroom, “Take a hot shower, it’ll help with the stiffness,” he recommends before rebuttoning his shirt and grabbing his wallet and room key. Holden nods and watches as Bill slips out of the room, jaw set and gaze troubled before the door shuts between them. 

Holden showers, staying under the hot spray of water till he hears the room door open again, heralding Bill’s return. He was right, of course, the hot water has helped with the strain in his neck and back and ribs and even his head is throbbing a little less. He doesn’t have a change of clothes so he towels off and pulls his briefs back on before opening the door and shivering at the temperature difference between the steamy bathroom and the cool bedroom. 

Bill waves him over and carefully goes about wrapping Holden’s ribs, hands gentle, dancing over his skin like butterflies. He shivers at the touch and Bill lifts his gaze, murmuring a quiet apology, never knowing that it’s not pain Holden feels at his touch. The older man rubs arnica cream into his shoulders and neck and it shouldn’t feel so intimate, so affectionate, but Holden can’t repress the sigh of satisfaction that slips out as his muscles loosen and warm under the firm touch. Bill hums softly and rubs a little harder and Holden shudders, a low sound of pleasure slipping past his lips as his eyes fall shut and his head falls forward. 

“Feels good?” Bill whispers, words brushing against his sensitive skin, and Holden nods loosely, lost in the sensation of Bill’s hands on his skin. Syrupy heat fills his veins, spreading slowly as Bill rubs down his back till his fingers brush against the wraps that encircle his ribs. “Anywhere else hurt?” he asks softly, humming faintly when Holden shakes his head. “Good,” he whispers, “why don’t you lay down and rest, I’ve got painkillers for you.”

Holden very nearly whimpers at the loss of Bill’s touch when he steps away, but he wrangles himself back under control and nods weakly, shuffling a few steps over to the bed before lowering himself delicately. Wincing, he lays back, watching through heavy lids as Bill shakes out a few pills from a white bottle and brings them over along with a mini bottle of whiskey. 

He can’t break his gaze away from Bill’s as he swallows the pills and whiskey, can’t help the way he’s studying the older man, assessing the look in his eyes and trying to understand why Bill is so deeply upset that Holden is a little bruised and banged up. He watches as Bill putters around the room, cleaning up and tidying things before he sinks down into the chair from the small table under the window, looking just as exhausted as Holden feels. 

Frowning, he watches Bill kick his shoes off and lean back, their gazes meeting as Bill reaches for the phone. “Nancy?” Holden guesses, lifting a brow when Bill shakes his head and keeps dialing. 

“Shepherd,” he murmurs before adjusting the receiver against his jaw. Holden watches him, head buzzing from the painkillers and whiskey, studying the way his jaw flexes as he explains the accident and Holden’s injuries, brow furrowing as he exchanges quick words with Shepherd before hanging up with a sigh. 

“We in trouble?” Holden murmurs sleepily, eyes growing heavier with each minute that passes. Bill smiles faintly and shakes his head, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees, eyes soft and warm as he studies Holden. 

“Nah, he’s glad you’re okay. Nothin to worry about,” Bill assures him. “You should get some rest,” he encourages, “you took a bad hit today.” His eyes grow stormy and he shakes his head again, biting at his bottom lip, jaw tensing. Holden can tell he’s blaming himself again and he just can’t stand that, so he wriggles a hand out from under the blankets and reaches out to grab Bill’s hand, fumbling for a moment before Bill looks up sharply and grasps his hand back. 

His smile feels crooked and his eyes are heavy, but he keeps them open so Bill can see he means it when he says, “It wasn’t your fault Bill, I’m okay, I promise.” 

Bill frowns and sighs heavily, grip tightening around Holden’s hand, “I…” he swallows hard and shakes his head, seemingly at a loss for words. Holden smiles tiredly and squeezes Bill’s hand as his eyes fall closed, shifting to get a little further into the blankets as exhaustion drowns him. 

Bill doesn’t let go of his hand, and the last thing he sees through heavy lids before he falls asleep is Bill watching him intently, teeth worrying at his lip, Holden’s hand cradled between his larger rougher ones. 

His last sleepy thought is,  _ I wonder if we’ll talk about this.  _

* * *

They don’t talk about it. 

* * *

Bill watches Holden sleep in the passenger seat as he drives them home, a lump in his throat when he spots the bruise along his hairline where his head had hit the dash during the accident. 

It makes something deep inside him ache with worry that he’d let something bad happen to his partner. It’s been  _ years _ since he had someone at his side, someone to watch his six and keep him company, and now, now he has Holden. 

He’d liked the kid from the start, even if he was an annoying little fuck sometimes, he had made Bill laugh and start to enjoy his work again. 

It had been years since he’d done that—longer still since he had been able to say he  _ enjoyed  _ the thought of getting up and going to work. 

Nancy had noticed the difference, even as it meant more time on the road away from her and Brian. She had teased him that if she didn’t know better she’d think he was having an affair and he’d rolled his eyes at her and accepted her kiss to his cheek, but then that word stuck in his head for days after, like a festering splinter in a wound.

In some ways she was right—he looked forward to seeing Holden, to spending time together and sharing ideas and theories, and as months passed and they began opening up to each other more, he found himself longing for the road when he was home. 

Still, he can’t set aside the sheer terror he had felt when the accident had happened and he’d looked up to find Holden dazed and bleeding. Swallowing hard, he glances over at the younger man, assuring himself that he’s  _ okay  _ before turning his gaze back to the road. 

He’d watched Holden sleep nearly the whole night, only grabbing a few hours for himself, and when he’d tried to convince Bill he could drive, Bill had pointed to the passenger seat with the sternest look he could muster and had muttered, “Sit your ass down and shut up Holden.”

It hadn’t taken long for Holden to fall asleep, his rest unobstructed even when Bill had stopped to gas up the car. He’d taken off his suit jacket and draped it over Holden’s form, an unusual tenderness filling him as the younger man’s brow wrinkled for a moment before smoothing back out. 

They’re almost to Holden’s apartment and when they pull up he spies a pretty young woman sitting on the steps—Holden’s girlfriend, perhaps. He parks and reaches out to squeeze Holden’s arm gently, smiling faintly when he makes a soft, sleepy sound of protest.

“I know, five more minutes, right?” Bill teases gently, smiling warmly when Holden’s eyes finally open. He’s sleepy and dazed looking, confusion on his face as he sits up, plucking at Bill’s jacket for a moment before realization crosses his face. 

“You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine kid, don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, cutting Holden’s protest off. Smiling faintly, he looks out the windshield and nods at the young woman, “Looks like your girl is here to take care of you,” he murmurs, wondering why the faint taste of bitter jealousy is in his mouth. 

It’s stupid to be jealous—he’s the one who got Holden hurt, he doesn’t  _ also  _ get to be the one to take care of him. 

Holden looks out and waves weakly at the young woman, something shadowing his eyes as he turns back to Bill and pulls his jacket off, folds it neatly and then hands it over. “Thanks Bill,” he murmurs tiredly, “I owe you.”

Scoffing, Bill lights a smoke and shakes his head, “No you fucking don’t Holden,” he mutters, “just, go inside and get some rest. Okay?” 

Holden nods, looking a little lost and confused, and  _ Christ  _ Bill wants to reach out and...he’s not sure what. Hug him, maybe. 

Holden gathers up his briefcase before opening the door and climbing out, wincing and grunting softly. Bill inhales harder on the smoke, letting the nicotine soothe his anxious desire to rush out of the car and help Holden inside. 

Holden peers in through the window at him, eyes tired and smile faint. “See you Monday Bill.”

He waves and then gives a two finger salute to the girl as she hurries over and wraps an arm around Holden’s waist to guide him inside. 

He sits there for a long time, even after Holden is gone. 

When he gets home Nancy flutters around him, checking for injury and shooing him to sit on the couch while she makes lunch. He turns the game on and zones out while Brian plays at his feet with his toy fighter jets, his soft sound effects blending with the noise of the TV. 

He smiles his thanks when Nancy brings a beer and a sandwich and throws his arm around her shoulders out of instinct, muscle memory. He stares at the tv and sees nothing, the sandwich gone before he realizes he hadn’t tasted a bite of it. 

All he can think of is the way Holden had trembled under his touch— _ the pain, obviously— _ how he’d made those soft sounds when Bill had rubbed his neck and shoulders— _ because he was  _ **_injured_ ** _ — _ how his sleepy smile had looked as Bill had held his hand and watched him fall asleep. 

He thinks about calling Holden to make sure he’s ok and then realizes Nancy has said something and is looking at him expectantly. “Sorry,” he murmurs, smiling apologetically, “just been a long few days,” he explains. 

The annoyance on her face melts into understanding and she nods, “Of course, I was just suggesting that maybe after church tomorrow we’d swing by Holden’s and drop off a meal for him.” 

Bill nods slowly, “That’s a great idea honey.”

Nancy smiles and looks pleased, “Poor boy, he’s probably sore and tired, he’ll need good meals this week. I’ll make sure to make a big pan of lasagna tomorrow morning so he’s all taken care of.”

“Sounds perfect.”

* * *

“Hey. Nancy made me promise to invite you to dinner. She wants to see who I'm spending

all this time with. Have a look at you,” he tells Holden on their way back from yet  _ another _ trip to Altoona. Truth be told, he’s glad Nancy brought it up—it’s been a few weeks since the accident and Holden seems fine, but Bill can’t shake the worry that’s been clinging to him ever since. 

Holden looks over at him sharply, and Bill is mostly able to bite back a smirk at the eager look on his face. “I would love that!” Holden exclaims softly, smiling over at Bill like he’s just won the lottery. 

“Could I bring Debbie?” Holden asks a moment later, looking over at Bill as the tires thunk against the metal struts of the bridge. Bill wants to snap  _ NO,  _ but that’s irrational and he’s not sure where it comes from, so he nods and smiles faintly. 

“Of course.”

Holden beams again and something in Bill’s chest goes warm, some emotion he can’t (won’t) name filling up his lungs. 

“Thanks,” Holden murmurs before turning to stare out the car window, a tiny smile on his face. 

Bill spends the next few hours peering out the windshield through sleet and snow, the soft cadence of Holden’s breath slow and steady beside him. 

It’s natural by now—they know each other’s thoughts and patterns and come into sync without even trying.

It’s...nice. 

He’s missed feeling like someone  _ knows  _ him, like someone gives a shit. 

He thinks of Nancy and instantly feels guilty—she and Holden are not the same. She’s his  _ wife _ and Holden is...his colleague, his friend. 

Sighing heavily, he turns up the heat and changes the channel on the radio as they cross into Virginia. 

Sometimes he wants to keep driving till they’re far away from here, till it’s just he and Holden, alone together with the person who knows them best. 

Sometimes, he wishes things could be different. 

* * *

Bill sips his whiskey and shakes his head faintly as Nancy flutters around the house, intent on making sure their happy family facade is in place when Holden and Debbie arrive. Brian is already in his pajamas, playing with Lincoln Logs in the living room and Bill stays close by, occasionally handing him a log to place onto the stack he’s building. 

Brian doesn’t say anything, no  _ thanks dad,  _ doesn’t look at him either, and bitter grief floods Bill’s mouth. He loves his son, but he hates this ocean of distance between them. How is he supposed to connect with a boy who won’t even look at him, let along  _ hug  _ him? 

The doorbell rings and he rises to his feet, meets Nancy in the hallway and then opens the door to find Holden and Debbie waiting on the doorstep. “Hi. Welcome. Please come in,” he says with a grin, gaze flickering to Holden’s open collar. He smirks faintly at the sight of his young partner unbuttoned and looking less starched and pressed than usual. 

“Hi! I'm so happy that you're here,” Nancy greets the young couple, reaching out to pull them into the house eagerly. “Come in!” She offers her hand to Debbie, “I’m Nancy.”

Bill extends his a moment later with a warm smile, mind already assessing this pretty young woman. “I’m Bill,” he tells her, gaze flickering over to where Holden is watching them intently, hope shining in his eyes. 

It never fails to amuse Bill how badly Holden craves approval, acceptance. 

“Debbie. I've heard a lot about you.”

“I can only imagine what Holden might have said,” he murmurs with a chuckle, shooting Holden and grin and a wink. He sips on his whiskey as Holden flushes, and maybe Bill has had too much whiskey on an empty belly because his first thought is  _ he looks good when he blushes  _ and then  _ I want to see it again.  _

“I have been  _ dying _ to meet you. Isn't it crazy that we haven't met yet?” Nancy asks Debbie.

“Yes, I've been dying to meet you, too.”

Nancy laughs and shakes her head fondly, “Look at you. You're babies.” 

Holden flushes again and Bill swallows hard, the mouthful of whiskey burning on its way down. 

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“I'd love one,” Debbie agrees with a smile, and Bill smiles faintly at how excited both women are to get to know each other. It’s nice—Nancy has her friends, but there’s nothing like the excitement of getting to know someone new. 

“I have  _ so _ much to talk to you about,” Nancy murmurs conspiratorially, taking Debbie’s hand and leading her down the hallway. “Let's get you a drink.”

He and Holden are left standing in the foyer, staring after the women for a long moment before Bill reaches out and claps a hand to Holden’s shoulder. “C’mon, let's get you a drink too,” he murmurs, leading Holden into the living room where Brian is still playing. 

“Well, hello there,” Holden says softly, smiling down at Brian. 

“Say hello, Brian,” Bill murmurs, biting back a sigh of frustration when it elicits no response. 

Holden shoots him a smile and shakes his head, “It's okay,” he says quietly before sinking down to sit cross legged beside Brian. “I used to have these when I was a kid,” he tells Brian, seemingly unperturbed by Brian’s lack of response. 

Bill settles himself in the nearby recliner and sips his whiskey, watching Holden’s head tip down as he selects a log and twirls it between his fingers before handing it to Brian. It makes his heart swell with affection as they work together to build the tower taller, Holden chattering on comfortably, as if Brian’s silence is totally normal. 

“I used to see how tall I could make the tower before it fell over,” Holden tells Brian and carefully sets a log atop another, lifting his hand slowly at the slight sway in the tower. 

Holden glances over his shoulder at Bill, eyes bright with happiness and something in Bill’s chest clenches, like a fist around his heart. Holden ducks his head again, dark honey hair gleaming in the soft light and looking less styled than normal.

Bill is seized with the urge to reach out and touch, so unexpected and strong he’s shocked to see his hand lifting from his thigh. He retracts it quickly and uses it instead to run through his hair, hoping Holden hasn’t noticed his odd behavior. 

“May I?” Holden asks before gently lowering another log, laughing brightly when the weight of it sends the whole tower toppling over. 

“Oh!”

Holden nudges Brian playfully as he laughs, “Uh-oh!” 

Bill’s heart flies when he sees Brian’s lips curl into a faint smile, and when Holden looks up at him with a pleased little smile on his face and eyes shining brightly with good humor, Bill has the sudden wild desire to hug him. 

He glances at his watch and sighs softly, it’s almost Brian’s bedtime. He’s loath today cut him off when he’s seemingly enjoying himself, but Nancy has them on a strict schedule and he knows he’ll catch hell if he shakes it up. 

“Brian, it's almost time to brush your teeth,” he reminds his son gently, smiling softly even when Brian doesn’t respond. 

“Come on, let's have a drink,” he tells Holden, rising from his chair with a wave of his hand. Holden nods and rises, as eager as a puppy, ruffling Brian’s hair before following Bill down the hall to his office. 

He can hear Nancy and Debbie in the kitchen talking and laughing and it makes him happy that Nancy is having such a good time. He pours out more whiskey for himself and a few fingers for Holden and then lifts his glass in a toast, “To the end of a long week,” he jokes, chuckling as Holden nods eagerly in agreement. 

He watches as Holden sips his whiskey and peers around the room, taking in the photos framed on the wall and the untidy stack of files on the desk. 

“This is…”

“Messy?” he suggests with a low laugh. 

Holden half turns, smirking faintly, “Very  _ you _ ,” he murmurs. His brows rise and he strides over to the wall behind Bill, “Is this you?” he asks incredulously, fingers reaching out to touch the thin pane of glass between them and the photo of Bill in Korea.

Huffing a laugh softly, he nudges Holden’s shoulder with his own, “I’m not  _ that  _ much different looking am I?” he teases, even as his gaze goes to the photo of him from twenty years ago. 

Holden smiles softly and then returns his gaze to the photo, head tilted to the side as he studies it intently. 

“No, I guess you aren’t,” he murmurs softly, a faint smile on his lips. “The uniform looks good,” he admits and Bill is amused to see a flush on his cheeks at the admission. 

“Ha, no way I’d fit in it now,” he jokes, patting his not so flat stomach. Holden shifts and leans back against the edge of the desk, studying Bill for a moment before shrugging—an unusually lazy gesture for the normally stiff young man. 

“I don’t know, I bet you’d still look sharp,” he murmurs, lips nearly pressed to the side of his glass. Bill watches him sip his whiskey, distracted for a moment by the way the low light makes his lips shine when he licks them after. 

Bill snorts and sips his own drink, carefully averting his gaze from the indulgent figure Holden cuts here in the shadows, “Sure, maybe I’ll dress up for Halloween,” he jokes. 

Holden grins widely, “I’d like to see that,” he says with a soft laugh, eyes bright and lips shining with traces of whiskey.

Bill laughs softly and shakes his head, warmth slipping through his veins, and he’s not sure if it’s the whiskey or the way Holden is right now, but he’s genuinely relaxed and enjoying himself. It feels  _ right _ joking and laughing with Holden, here in this little space that’s just his. 

He takes a couple steps closer and watches as Holden’s head tilts back to meet his gaze, throat taut and pale gold in the shadows of his office. “What did you dress up as when you were a kid?” he asks curiously. 

Holden smirks and sips his drink, “Aren’t I still a kid? You call me that all the time.”

Bill huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, “You’re a pain in my ass is what you are,” he says fondly, sharing a soft grin with Holden. “C’mon, tell me,” he says. 

Sighing heavily and looking very put upon, Holden shakes his head and smirks faintly, “You're going to make fun of me,” he murmurs.

Bill lifts his hand, “I won’t, scouts honor,” he swears solemnly, grin teasing at the corners of his mouth. 

Holden lifts a brow but nods, “Alright, well, when I was six I was a cowboy, and then seven through ten I was a pirate— _ no laughing, you promised! _ ” he says with a grin, reaching out to slap at Bill’s arm. 

Bill shifts back and laughs, neatly avoiding the blow, grinning when Holden gives him a look reminiscent of a frustrated puppy. “I didn’t promise not to laugh, I promised not to make  _ fun, _ ” he reminds Holden, snorting when the younger man rolls his eyes and takes a large sip of whiskey. 

“Right, well, then I was a firefighter, a businessman, and then I settled on an FBI agent and well,” he shrugs and smiles bashfully at Bill, “guess that one stuck.”

Bill grins and finishes his whiskey, pours himself another and tops off Holden’s drink too. “Bet you were a cute little agent,” he teases, delighting in Holden’s blush. “Please tell me your mom got pictures,” he begs, hand over his heart. 

Holden scowls playfully and then laughs, sipping at his whiskey before he sighs and nods, “Not that you’ll  _ ever  _ see them,” he tells Bill decisively. 

Bill puts on a dramatic pout and edges closer till he’s very nearly standing between Holden’s spread thighs, blood hot in his veins from laughter and whiskey. “ _ Please?” _ he begs softly, biting back the grin that wants to break free. 

Holden’s eyes are wide and dark, lips parted softly as he stares up at Bill, and Bill can see the way his pulse is thrumming in his throat. Some dark urge seizes him and he clenches his fingers against the urge to reach out and touch. 

“There you boys are!”

Bill jolts, gaze flashing guiltily toward the door where Nancy is standing, eyes shrewd and smile wide. “Look at them, standing in the shadows, probably talking about gruesome things,” she jokes to Debbie. The younger woman’s eyes are sharp and assessing, and Bill feels like he’s been caught doing something indecent. 

Painting on a grin, he steps away from Holden, “You know us, all work and no play,” he jokes, glancing back over his shoulder as Nancy leads the way. Holden is shrouded in half light, gaze intense on Bill’s photos, and though he can only see his profile, Bill can sense the longing in his gaze. 

An answering longing fills him and leaves him aching for something he has no words for. 

* * *

The months pass and they interview Brudos and Speck and a handful of others, and his marriage dies a slow and painful death. He and Nancy orbit each other like lost satellites, silent and broken with no way of communicating.

Brian is as unreachable as always and Bill feels hollow and alone, lonely in his own home. He spends hours in his office after Brian is asleep and crawls into his own bed long after Nancy is asleep. 

He stares up at the ceiling and wishes things were different, happier, but has no idea how to make those wishes into reality. He feels like he’s drowning under the weight of expectations, failing at every turn except work. 

His only relief from his home life is the time he and Holden spend on the road, their lives a series of hotel rooms and diners, murder and rape and bad coffee. It’s routine and comfortable, and as he watches Holden pace their hotel room, all tightly wound energy and brilliance, he realizes that he’s more at home  _ here _ than he is anywhere else. 

It’s odd, he thinks, how another person can become a home. 

* * *

The shit storm with OPR and the thing with the school principal have Holden wound tighter than a clock and Bill can see the crash coming like it’s happening in slow motion—he knows it’s going to be bad but he doesn’t know  _ how  _ bad till he gets a call that Holden is in the hospital in California. 

When he gets there he finds out Holden was talking to Kemper ( _ of fucking course, it’s  _ **_always_ ** _ Kemper) _ before the incident. The doctors can’t tell him what happened, only that Holden had been sedated and is awake and coherent now. 

He pauses outside the door and steels himself—he’d always hated the hospital and after the war...well, suffice to say he’s not pleased to be here. Pushing the door open, he peers inside for a moment, heart clenching when he sees Holden in the bed, curled in on himself and facing away from the door. 

He looks  _ small  _ and fragile and so terribly young it makes Bill’s chest ache. The door shuts quietly and Holden’s shoulders go tense—he’s awake then; Bill hadn’t been sure. 

He rounds the bed and stands beside it, grimacing when he sees how pale and weak Holden looks. “What the  _ fuck _ Holden?” he whispers, anger and fear and worry knotting in his chest, making his voice harsh. He swallows hard when Holden’s eyes screw shut and his shoulders flinch, shame burrowing into his gut. 

Sighing softly he drags the chair nearby close and sinks down, rubbing a hand over his face, eyes gritty with exhaustion. When he opens them, he finds Holden watching him cautiously, like he thinks Bill is going to snap at him again, like he’s preparing himself for the worst. 

Leaning forward in his chair, he shakes his head and sighs, “What happened?” 

Holden licks his lips and looks away, fingers toying restlessly with the sheets that are pulled up around his chest. “Panic attack,” he answers softly, “a bad one. Thought it was a heart attack.”

Brows furrowing, Bill shakes his head, “You’ve never had one before?” he asks quietly, trying to keep his voice calm and gentle.

Holden shakes his head, “No, never like this,” he whispers, voice hoarse. 

“Like  _ this?” _ Bill echoes questioningly.

Holden’s eyes close and he shrinks in further on himself, “I...years ago. I lost someone, a, a friend. Something like this happened at the funeral,” he whispers hoarsely, throat working hard. His face is pinched and pale and Bill finds himself wanting to reach out, to hold his hand or offer a hug, but he keeps himself still, not sure if that’s wanted, not sure if it’s wise. 

“I’m sorry,” he replies, because what else can he say to something like that? 

Holden shrugs and keeps his gaze averted, “It’s fine, they’re giving me Valium to help control it. They said I can leave today.” His voice is thin and strained, exhaustion plain on his face and once again Bill is seized with the urge to reach out and hug him. 

“That’s good,” he murmurs, “we’ll get you home so you can rest.” 

From there it’s a flurry of paperwork and catching their flight home, strained silence between them as Bill tries to figure out what to say and fails. Holden sleeps on the drive to his apartment and wakes up disoriented, lines in his cheek from the fabric of his balled up jacket beneath his head. 

Bill follows him upstairs and watches as Holden wanders through his ascetic apartment, seemingly lost here in his own home. Bill watches for a moment and then shakes his head and captures Holden’s wrist, loosening his grip when Holden flinches and tugs back. 

“Hey, sorry, just, why don’t you sit and I’ll get you something to eat?” he suggests, taken aback by the gentleness of his own tone. Holden nods slowly, looking lost, but sits down at his tiny table by the window. 

Bill turns to the fridge and bites back a curse when he finds nothing more than a few eggs, some milk, and leftover Chinese. Sniffing the Chinese, he nods and then grabs the eggs, body moving on autopilot as he starts whisking eggs and turning on the stove. 

Soon the small space fills with the scent of reheated lo mein, and when he glances over his shoulder at Holden, he finds the young man watching him intently. Smiling faintly, he lowers the heat and gets a glass of water, drops of runover spilling down his fingers as he sets it in front of Holden. 

“Drink,” he orders firmly, smiling, pleased, when Holden obediently lifts the glass and drinks. He’s unsurprised to see Holden drain the glass in three or four large swallows, panting softly as he pulls the glass away from his lips. Bill takes it without comment and refills it before shutting off the stove and sliding the food onto the waiting plate. 

He sets it all down in front of Holden and nods, “Go on,” he murmurs, leaning back in the chair to watch. He pulls out his cigarettes and lighter, smirking when Holden sighs and gives them a wrinkled nose. Still, Bill isn’t an asshole, so he gets up and opens the window, even if it is a chilly night out. 

He smokes while Holden eats and when he’s done takes the plate away and nods, “Good job,” he murmurs warmly, “you should shower and get some rest now.”

Holden nods, looking dazed and tired as he rises to his feet unsteadily. He shuffles off toward the bedroom and then pauses in the doorway, looking hesitant as he looks back to Bill.

“Will you…” he swallows hard and looks away, like he’s ashamed of asking. “Will you be here when I get out?”

Bill casts a quick glance at his watch—it’s half past ten now, if he calls Nancy should still be awake. Turning his gaze back to Holden, he nods, “Yea, I’ll be here,” he promises.

Holden’s body sinks a little, relief flickering across his face before he nods and whispers  _ thank you _ . Bill just nods and watches him walk away till the door shuts and then turns back to the sink full of dishes waiting for him. 

His hands are busy and so too is his mind. Holden hasn’t said what triggered the panic attack, but Bill isn’t in a hurry to push and find out, especially if it’s going to trigger another. He’s never seen Holden so weak and small, and every instinct within him says he needs to protect his partner, his friend. 

He calls Nancy and explains that he’s going to stay the night— _ Holden needs me right now _ . 

_ We need you too _ she whispers, and he doesn’t know what to say. They sit in silence for a long moment before she sighs and whispers a goodnight that feels a lot more like a goodbye. 

By the time Holden emerges from his bedroom in soft flannel pants and plain white T-shirt, Bill has stripped off his shoes and socks and belt and is relaxing on the couch, the TV on but quiet. Holden shuffles over and hesitates for a moment before sitting down beside Bill, body radiating heat and scented like lemon and rosemary. 

“Thank you, for taking care of me, for all of it,” Holden whispers, voice hoarse and thick, like maybe he’s about to cry, or was crying in the shower. Bill glances over at him and can see how red his eyes are—definitely crying in the shower then. 

“I don’t mind,” he replies, shifting to look more directly at Holden. “I’m glad you’re home and safe, where I can keep an eye on you.”

Holden smiles weakly, nodding. “You don’t have to though, I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“Holden, you’re a friend, not a burden,” he says gently, smiling softly when Holden looks up at him sharply. “What, you didn’t know?” he teases, smile growing when Holden flushes and shakes his head, looking bashful and pleased. “Yea well, you are, so shut up and let me take care of you, okay?” he murmurs. 

Holden nods and smiles faintly, settling back against the couch a little more, his shoulder brushing Bill’s. Bill turns the volume up on the tv and throws his arm over the back of the couch, fingertips falling to brush against the outside of Holden’s bicep. 

He brushes his fingers back and forth, enjoying the feel of warm skin beneath his touch, relaxing slowly here in the quiet of Holden’s apartment. When a soft weight shifts into his side, he looks down, silently amused to see Holden asleep against his chest. 

He lets him stay like that for a while, savoring the close contact. It’s been so long since Nancy has shown him any kind of physical affection that he’s forgotten what it feels like to have the weight of another body in his arms. 

Eventually though his back starts to protest and he has to move. Carefully, he shifts and smiles when Holden makes a soft sleepy sound of protest. “I know,” he whispers, rubbing a hand over his strong back, “let's get you to bed though, huh? More comfortable there.”

Holden makes another soft sound but nods and sways a little when Bill helps him to his feet, arm slung round his hips to keep him steady as they shuffle down the hall and into Holden’s bedroom. 

He gets Holden into bed and starts to pull away, stopped by a hand on his wrist and a set of sleepy, pleading eyes. “Stay?” Holden whispers, fingers tightening in Bill’s wrist. “Please?”

Any resistance he might have worked up crumbles and he nods, smiling faintly, “Yea alright.” Holden releases him and he quickly strips off his polo and trousers, left in just his boxers as he slides under the covers. 

Holden lays facing him, eyelids heavy and lips curled into a sleepy smile. 

He watches as Holden’s eyes shutter and his breathing goes slow and even, watches until Holden is fully asleep, and then keeps watching until he too is dragged into the tides of slumber. 

* * *

Bill wakes in increments, unwilling to leave the warmth and comfort of sleep behind, but slowly awareness creeps in and he realizes that he’s in a bed that’s not his own, and there’s someone in it with him. 

Specifically, there is someone spooned up against his chest that isn’t his wife and he has about five seconds of panic before he inhales and recognizes the lemon and rosemary scent of Holden’s shampoo and realizes where he is. 

Still, that doesn’t really change the fact that he’s curled up in bed in a rather intimate way with a man—he’d spooned fellow soldiers during the war when they were alone and frightened and certain they were going to die, but this isn’t  _ that.  _

Only a few breaths later does he realize that he's  _ hard _ and that Holden’s ass is cradled snugly against his cock. Fire races up his spine and his cheeks turn hot, embarrassment at his continued arousal making him rigid. 

Holden makes a soft sleepy noise and stirs, and Bill shifts his arm where it’s lying heavy around Holden’s trim waist, carefully pulling it back till he’s free and able to roll away and onto his back. Holden shifts and then stretches, the long lean lines of his back and shoulders flexing, and Bill watches in fascination as his body twists and arches before he rolls over onto his side to face Bill. 

Holden smiles sleepily and rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand before it slips away to cover his mouth as he yawns. Bill can’t stop the smile that curves over his lips, nor the fierce fond affection that crashes into his chest. 

“Sleep ok?” he murmurs, voice still raspy with sleep. 

Holden nods and smiles, “Yea, better than I normally do, to be honest.”

Bill laughs softly and rubs a hand over his hair, “Same here,” he says thoughtfully, “your bed is nice.”

Holden smirks and shifts, the sheet falling around his hips as he laughs softly, “My mom bought it for me,” he admits, reaching out to thwack the back of his hand against Bill’s chest when he laughs. 

“You a momma’s boy, huh?” he teases, laughing when Holden rolls his eyes and flips him off. 

They settle into a quiet that’s comfortable and warm and cozy and then Holden sighs and closes his eyes, body going tense as he speaks in a low, rough whisper. 

“Kemper hugged me,” he says, lips trembling around the words, long lashes fluttering madly before opening again to stare pleadingly at Bill. 

“He  _ hugged  _ you,” Bill repeats incredulously, brows rising sharply as anger starts to build in his belly. 

Holden nods and swallows hard, “He said  _ I could kill you now, pretty easily. Do some interesting things before anyone showed up. Then you'd be with me in spirit, _ ” Holden whispers, face pale and drawn and Bill can see the tremor that runs over his body as he recalls the words. 

Bill curses and moves without thinking, reaches out to grab Holden’s hand, stopping short when he sees Holden flinch. Softening immediately, he reaches forward slower, maintains his steady gaze with the younger man, “Hey, it’s ok, it’s me,” he murmurs, breathing a sigh of relief when Holden inches his fingers forward and lets Bill touch him. 

Holden shudders at his touch and Bill can’t restrain himself anymore—he slides forward and cups a hand around the nape of Holden’s neck to guide him closer, sighing in relief when the younger man goes easily. 

Holden is stiff for a moment before he sinks into Bill’s embrace, trembling like a nervous horse. Bill rubs his back soothingly, shifting onto his back so Holden’s torso is pressed to his and he can more easily hold onto him. 

It’s intensely intimate, and an embrace he never thought he’d share with another man, let alone Holden, but the longer he holds onto him, the more tension he can feel leaving his body. He can feel that Holden cries for a while, but eventually he calms and his breathing against Bill’s throat is steady. 

Furrowing his fingers through Holden’s hair, he hums softly, a wordless tune from his childhood. “You’re safe,” he whispers, “I promise.”

Holden shudders and breathes out wetly against his throat and Bill fights back a shiver at the sensation, swallowing hard. 

“I’m sorry I fucked up,” Holden whispers, “and I’m sorry you had to come get me because I was dumb.”

Bill sighs and rubs his back idly, fingers tracing over the knobs of his spine, entranced by the way Holden shivers under his touch. “You’re going to be in a shitload of trouble on Monday, but, I’m pretty sure you won’t lose your job,” he tells Holden. 

“That’s good I suppose,” Holden murmurs, lips brushing against Bill’s throat. He goes silent, fingers brushing gently against Bill’s ribs, over and over again, the sensation sending pleasure and heat through his veins. 

To his shock and shame, he can feel his cock thickening, and he knows if he continues to let Holden lay on him it’s going to be a  _ problem.  _ “I uh, should probably head home,” he murmurs, sucking in a breath when Holden shifts and his thigh that had been slung across Bill’s hips drags over his cock. 

He moves quickly once Holden isn’t atop him anymore, rolling off the bed to grab his trousers and pull them on. His reaction to Holden’s body atop his is perfectly normal he assures himself. He’d woken up hard so many times in his life and this one is no different.

_ Except this time it’s with Holden  _ his treacherous mind whispers and he fumbles his shirt, cursing softly as he bends over to swipe it off the floor and pull it on while Holden watches him with curious eyes. 

His smile is more of a grimace when his head pops through his shirt, rubbing a hand over his hair nervously. 

_ Shit, why is he so nervous? _

Holden follows him out to the front door, arms crossed protectively over his chest, biting nervously at his bottom lip as they hover, too close and yet so far apart it makes him want to drag the younger man close for a hug. 

“I’ll see you Monday,” Bill murmurs gruffly, offering a weak and crooked smile before he reaches for the door. 

A hand at his arm brings him pause and when he looks back, Holden looks just as nervous as Bill feels. 

“Thank you Bill, for everything,” he murmurs, fingers tightening on Bill’s bicep before they slide away, the sensation of skin on skin nearly making Bill break out in shivers. 

He nods sharply and turns away, gut writhing with emotion and some twisted need to go back and—and he’s not really sure  _ what.  _ He allows himself to look back when he reaches the elevator and is oddly pleased to see Holden in the doorway, watching him intently. 

He lifts a hand in a wave and Holden smiles faintly, waves back. 

The whole drive home he debates over what to tell Nancy about what had happened, but when he gets home, the house is empty. He picks up the note on the counter and huffs out a breath softly, letting it drift away a moment later. 

_ At mom’s. Leftovers in the fridge for you. Be home tomorrow afternoon.  _

_ —N _

The clock on the wall ticks away in the silence of the house, relentless and unending. 

* * *

As the months pass like water through his hands Bill feels his marriage crumbling around him, turning rotten at the core as he spends more and more time on the road with Holden. 

He finds his escape in mediocre hotel rooms and diner food that gives him heartburn, in the way Holden comes alive with burning intensity when they’re working a case or interviewing a killer. It rubs off on Bill, his youthful enthusiasm, and it carries him through the long monotonous slog when he’s home. 

He focuses on yard work and doing all the things Nancy has asked him to do around the house, hoping that maybe these slapdash band aids will hold together the withered remains of his relationship. 

After a case in Oklahoma that straddled reservation land and public land and had him running through the woods, puffing like an engine and sure he was going to have a heart attack, he starts cutting back on his smoking and drinking. 

Holden teases him at first when he orders a salad instead of a steak, but then joins him every time thereafter in ordering the same. 

Nancy asks him suspiciously who he’s trying to impress by going for jogs and taking up boxing again, and when he tells her it’s just for work, he can see the suspicion still lingering in her eyes. 

He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’s doing it for his younger male partner, that he’s tired of feeling old and tired, and that he doesn’t want Holden to think less of him because he’s too slow to catch a killer. 

He tries not to let himself think about what Holden must think of all this, but when they’re on the road and he suggests going for a run together, he can’t help but be pleased with how surprised and excited Holden looks. 

He tries not to let himself think about that night he’d stayed with Holden after Vacaville, but then come the times when they’re in Bill’s or Holden’s hotel room, reading through cases while sitting shoulder to shoulder on the bed and inevitably one of them falls asleep. 

They wake up tangled together, warm and sleepy and they never ever talk about it, no matter how many times it happens. 

It just  _ is.  _

Somewhere between interviewing Berkowitz and Manson Bill comes to the realization that the fondness in his chest when he’s with Holden feels a lot more like when he’d been young and dating Nancy—nervous and excited and  _ aching _ to touch. 

It’s a stunning feeling and one that knocks him entirely off his game for a whole weekend. Holden of course notices and won’t let it lie, concerned that something is wrong and Bill fights back hysterical laughter because how do you tell your partner that absolutely  _ everything  _ is wrong, and yet feels so  _ right.  _

So he doesn’t. He keeps it to himself and measures out his touches and tries not to be overly friendly with Holden, but all it does is make his heart ache and Holden look like he’s a sad puppy, unsure of why his master is suddenly gone. 

He tells himself it’s nothing when he touches himself and thinks of Holden’s plush lips wrapped around his cock, but he can’t deny how hard he comes when he pictures the way Holden would look with Bill’s cum on his face and in his mouth. 

He tries redirecting his needs to Nancy, and for a brief period of time they’re fucking like they used to—but when he’s taking her from behind one night and he envisions Holden beneath him instead, he comes hard and fast and is immediately swamped with ugly guilty shame. 

Bill gets Nancy off quickly and tries to pretend like nothing happened out of the ordinary, but Nancy isn’t stupid and she’s not blind. 

They stop having sex, stop talking, stop trying.

His marriage is dead on the vine and neither of them are brave enough to face it and speak the truth. 

Torn between what he  _ wants _ and what he knows he  _ should _ do, Bill feels like he’s drowning slowly under the weight of societal obligation and expectation, lungs suffocating in sorrow as he lays in bed next to his wife, yearning for someone else. 

* * *

Things have changed between Holden and Bill, and while Holden doesn’t dare to hope outright that maybe Bill sees him the same way Holden sees Bill, he can’t help but wallow in the way they are together when they’re at work. 

Bill laughs more and jokes around, seemingly always finding a reason to touch Holden; an arm around his shoulders, a hand at his elbow, fingers that brush his hair back from his face in the early dawn hours when they’ve fallen asleep in bed together once more. 

He yearns deeply for these touches, aches with each one and still, he tries to pretend like it’s normal, like any other male colleague would act this way, but Holden isn’t stupid or naive, despite what Bill might say in jest. 

None of his other male colleagues treat him this way and he’s fairly certain that Wendy can tell  _ something  _ has changed between them, even if she’s not indelicate enough to ask outright. On the rare occasion that he and Gregg are paired together for an interview the difference is stark: they barely speak and it feels more like he’s stuck in a car with a priest than a friend.

He goes to Atlanta and muddles his way through two interviews, silently grateful for Jim Barney keeping them on track and mining useful information out of the men. Once again he grits his teeth in anger that they hadn’t been able to get the man for their team and had been stuck with Gregg instead. 

He comes back with half assed interviews that Wendy gives him shit for and a head full of images of young black children, murdered and left like trash. 

He can’t get it out of his head, and he knows he’s obsessing over this just as much as Bill does over BTK, but he can’t let it go, even as the FBI is told staunchly that it's a local issue,  _ stay away. _

He’s pacing the floor of his apartment, reading over the file he’d put together while in Atlanta, brow furrowed as he goes through the pictures again and again, trying to see something new, when the phone rings and startles him out of his reverie.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Ford, I have a man here—”

“Agent,” he hears Bill’s voice say, the annoyance in it making him smile fondly. 

“ _ Agent _ , who would like to come up, Agent Tench?” 

“That’s fine Barry, send him up,” Holden replies, smiling faintly when he hears Bill grumble over the line before it disconnects. 

He has a moment's pause when he realizes that he’s in flannel pajama pants and an old oversized sweater that had belonged to Grant, panicking that maybe he needs to change, and then there’s a knock at the door and it’s far too late for anything now. 

Hurrying over to open the door, he grins when he sees Bill on the other side looking casual in a polo shirt and khakis. “Hey,” he greets the older man, “you gotta leave poor Barry alone, you get him all worked up every time you come here.”

Bill snorts and shakes his head, “My heart bleeds for Barry,” he murmurs sarcastically. 

Holden snorts and shuts the door, studying Bill curiously. “Not that I’m not glad to have you here, but what brings you here instead of the golf course on such a nice day?” he asks, gesturing to the window where it’s cheerily bright and sunny outside. 

Bill shrugs and goes to Holden’s small kitchen table, peering down at the photos that had been capturing his attention for nearly a month now. “Nancy said if I went to the golf course she’d melt my clubs down, so I figured it was safer to come here,” he murmurs, gaze flickering up to meet Holden’s. 

There’s a twinkle of dry amusement in his gaze and Holden can’t help the laugh that comes out of his chest, even as his gut wrenches for Bill. He knows things haven’t been good with Bill and Nancy for a while, but despite their continued closeness, Bill doesn’t tell him much about their relationship.

Holden respects Bill’s desire for privacy and doesn’t push because he knows Bill well enough to know that if he pushes and  _ keeps _ pushing he’s going to piss off his friend and possibly cause a rift. 

“Well I’m happy to be an escape for you,” he replies dryly, biting back a smirk when Bill rolls his eyes at him before picking up a picture of a murdered child. 

“Atlanta?” Bill asks softly burning blue gaze rising as Holden joins him by the table. Holden nods and reaches out to pick up another photo, throat thick as he stares at the splayed limbs and ruined innocence.

“They think it’s a white killer,” he murmurs, “they absolutely refuse to hear that it might not be, and it’s going to wind up costing them more lives.”

Bill nods and lets the picture fall from his fingers, spiraling through the air before landing on the small stack of photos covering the table. “People don’t want to think that a predator can come from their own community,” he agrees softly. 

Holden sighs and rubs a hand over his face, exhausted and worn thin after spending a week in Ohio chasing a serial rapist and murderer who had been preying on women with red hair, taking scalps as a trophy and defacing the bodies by carving  _ whore  _ into the bellies. 

“When’s the last time you had a good meal?” Bill asks quietly, arms crossing over his broad chest as he studies Holden intently. 

Holden lifts a brow and laughs softly, “When do we ever have good meals?” he retorts, running a hand over his hair that’s getting too long after weeks on the road. 

Bill smirks and nods, “Alright, well, why don’t you get dressed and we’ll go grab something?” he suggests, giving Holden a pointed once over, “I don’t think that’s quite the look for going out,” he teases. 

Holden flushes but nods, “Yea all right, because  _ you’re  _ such a paragon of fashion sense,” he says over his shoulder, grinning when Bill laughs loudly in response. He hurries back to his room and exchanges his pants for a pair of khaki shorts and his top for a light blue polo he knows shows off his arms and makes his eyes look even bluer. 

Not that he’s trying to impress anyone.

Scoffing at himself, he sprays on a touch of cologne Debbie had gotten him before they broke up and tousles his hair, studying himself in the mirror before deciding that he looks good, but not like he’s trying too hard. 

_ Why are you trying at all? Bill is straight and you’re only setting yourself up for heartache.  _

Ignoring the ever present voice in his head that always speaks up when he’s thinking about Bill, he hurries back out to the kitchen, trying to ignore the way Bill wolf whistles and smirks at him. 

“All that for little ole me?” Bill teases, grinning widely as Holden blushes and avoids his gaze. 

“Shut up,” he retorts smartly, ignoring the way Bill’s laughter makes his heart race and his skin heat. 

_ Just friends, we're  _ **_just_ ** _ friends _

They settle in at a local restaurant and eat out on the brickyard patio, laughing and talking for hours as they enjoy drink after drink till the sun is setting and Bill heaves out a sigh after looking at his watch. 

“I better walk you back and then get home, any later and I’ll be in trouble—well, more trouble than I already will be,” he mutters, shaking his head as he tosses down a handful of bills to cover the check. 

“I’m sorry,” Holden murmurs as they walk down the street, glancing sideways at Bill’s profile. He loves Bill’s face, but he never lets himself look for too long—it’s a dangerous way to expose himself and his feelings, so he sticks with short glances that slide away when Bill looks back. 

Bill snorts and lights up a cigarette—his first in hours Holden notes with pride. “It’s not your fault my wife can’t stand me,” he murmurs, shaking his head. 

Holden’s stomach drops and he glances sidelong at Bill, “Is it really that bad?” he asks cautiously. Bill's marriage is always dangerous ground for them, but he’s had just enough to drink to let himself ask, just this once. 

Bill exhales out steely grey blue smoke and nods, “Anytime I try to be there she acts like she doesn’t want me around, but then when I’m gone she’s angry I’m not there. Can’t win for losing,” he sighs, shaking his head. 

Holden doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“She thinks I’m having an affair with Wendy,” Bill tells Holden, a sharp scoffing laugh and a bitterly humorous look on his face when Holden looks over. 

“That’s…”

“Ridiculous,” Bill finishes for him. 

Holden opens the door to his apartment and Bill follows him inside, “Wendy isn’t even—” Bill cuts himself off and shakes his head, lips pressed together tightly and Holden can tell he’s holding something back.

“Isn’t even…” he prods gently, opening a beer and handing it to Bill. 

Bill nods his thanks and takes a long gulp, gaze averted and fingers picking at the label as he shrugs. “The one I want,” he murmurs, gaze lifting to meet Holden’s. 

They’re both silent as the implication fills the space between them and Holden’s heart races in his chest, stupid hope choking him as he tries to form thoughts, words,  _ anything.  _

“W-who do you want?” he finally manages to ask, mouth dry despite the gulp of beer he just swallowed. 

Bill stares at him for a long moment, emotions warring on his face, agony in his eyes before he shakes his head and sets his beer aside. “Never mind,” he says hoarsely, “it’s not...possible.”

“Why not?” Holden dares to ask, edging closer, heart pounding in his chest and palms sweaty as he closes the distance between them. He’s so close now he can see the lines around Bill’s eyes and the desperate look on his face. 

Bill licks his lips and looks away, “It’s just not,” he whispers, “it’s...dangerous.”

_ Dangerous  _

“Is it someone at the FBI?” Holden prods, “or someone we met on the road?” 

“It doesn’t matter Holden, just...let it go,” Bill sighs, eyes pleading when they make contact with Holden’s. 

The tension in the air is so thick it feels hard to breathe and then suddenly Bill is setting aside his beer and running a hand over his hair, “I should go, I—” he nods and waves weakly at Holden, “I’ll see you Monday.”

_ Wait, don’t go!  _ he thinks, but the words strangle him and he watches, heart sinking as Bill strides to the door. Holden doesn’t want to watch him go, he wants to curl up and cry, so he turns away and swallows down the tears that he has no reason to be crying. 

“Fuck.”

He hears the soft utterance and then sudden hurried steps that set his heart racing. He’s half turned when Bill reaches out and slides a hand around the nape of his neck, fierce determination in his gaze the last thing Holden sees before he’s being kissed. 

Holden is stunned into utter stillness for half a breath and then Bill’s lips slide against his and the hint of teeth on his lip have him moaning softly and melting into it. 

His arms wind around Bill’s broad shoulders, and he opens his mouth on a sigh, body thrumming with pleasure as Bill’s hands roam over his back and waist and then down to his ass. 

It’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

_ Nancy _ his brain whispers,  _ what about Nancy and Brian?  _

He allows himself one final moment to sink into the kiss and savor the forbidden taste of Bill’s mouth against his before he takes a shuddering breath and pushes the older man away. 

“What…” he swallows hard, eyes still closed, “what is this?” he whispers hoarsely, waiting for the answer from Bill that will quite possibly break him, break  _ them,  _ break  _ everything _ . 

He can hear the amusement in Bill’s voice, feel the smile that’s pressed into his jaw along with the words, “You really need me to explain what  _ this  _ is?” Bill teases as he squeezes the handful of Holden’s ass he’s grabbed. 

Holden opens his eyes and shakes his head, watching as the playful look on Bill’s face fades slowly. “Bill, what is this for you?” he asks softly, “is this a one night thing? An affair?” 

Bill’s face collapses into an exasperated frown, head wagging side to side as he heaves out a harsh breath, “Holden, can’t we just—”

Holden shakes his head and steps back, holding out a hand to ward Bill away. “No, we can’t.”

“What the  _ fuck _ Holden, what do you want from me then?” Bill demands, shoving a hand through his hair angrily. “You want me to leave my wife? Is that it?” 

“I want to know what  _ you _ want this to be,” Holden replies calmly, even as he feels like everything is crumbling between them. 

“Do you not want this?” Bill demands, stepping closer, “I thought—”

“Of  _ course _ I want it Bill, I want it too much, that’s the problem,” Holden whispers hoarsely, tears burning in his eyes as he looks pleadingly at Bill. 

“Then what’s the  _ problem _ ?” Bill asks harshly, stepping forward to recapture Holden’s arms, thick fingers biting into his skin as Bill clings to him. Holden doesn’t have time to answer because then Bill is kissing him again and it feels like his heart is going to shatter.

He reaches up and clings to Bill, fingers brushing through his short cropped hair that’s peppered with more grey than black these days, moaning softly as Bill’s lips devour him. A sob chokes him as he clings to the older man, and soon he can taste salt in their kiss, the ashy taste of grief filling his mouth. 

Pushing away, he gasps wetly and turns away from Bill, curling in on himself as he struggles for composure. 

“You want me,” Bill whispers, “why are you fighting this?” 

“Because I want  _ everything  _ with you,” Holden replies, too honestly, and he feels like he’s laying himself bare before Bill and begging not to be broken. 

Bill is silent for a long time and Holden uses the time to wipe off the tears on his face before he turns around. Bill looks lost and sad and Holden aches to comfort him, but he knows he can’t. 

“The odds don’t play in our favor,” he tells Bill sadly, “and I’m not going to let you use me to destroy your marriage because you’re too scared to end it yourself.” 

Bill stares at him for a long moment and then sighs heavily, wiping a hand across his face. “Isn’t it enough that I want you?” he asks softly, “isn’t that enough?” 

Holden shakes his head, “No, it’s not. I’ve been the dirty little secret before, I’ve waited for a lover to leave their wife and I won’t do it again. If you want to use me to burn down your marriage then have the courage to admit it. But don’t use me and lie to yourself about why.”

Bill looks increasingly angry with every word Holden says, countenance growing stormy. “Don’t fucking talk about my wife,” he snaps and Holden can’t hold back his eye roll.

“Why? Just because you’re too much of a coward to admit what you want doesn’t mean  _ I _ can’t talk about this.”

Bill raises a hand in a near violent gesture and Holden fights back a flinch, stomach dropping when he thinks that maybe he’s pushed too hard. It lowers slowly, horrified recognition passing over Bill’s face and Holden realizes that he didn’t hide the flinch quite as well as he’d thought. 

Shaking his head, Holden waves at the door, “Just go Bill. Go home to your wife and kid and decide what it is you want because I’m not deciding for you.” 

Bill opens his mouth in protest and Holden shakes his head, strides past him and wrenches open his front door, holding it open as he stares out into the bland hallway, waiting. He can feel tears rising behind his eyes, burning as his throat aches with the urge to sob, but he won’t, he  _ won’t  _ break down in front of Bill. 

He hears Bill curse and then sees him approaching in his periphery until he’s right beside Holden, breathing unsteadily. When Holden finally allows himself to look at Bill he feels his heart crack at the grief in the older man’s face. 

“Holden,” Bill whispers, fingers brushing against Holden’s hand by his side. 

“Go home Bill,” he whispers hoarsely, voice thick with unshed tears. 

Bill’s eyes harden and Holden wants to cry at the anger and loathing that fills them when so recently they’d been filled with warmth and affection. 

He watches as Bill strides away down the hall and then shuts the door, secures the lock and chain and then slumps to the floor, breathing going sharp and unsteady. 

His vision blurs and he chokes on a sob, the heel of his hand pressing into his sternum where it feels like his heart is shattering apart in his chest.

* * *

Thunder rumbles in the distance and Holden watches as lightning shatters the bruised purple sky, illuminating the dark interior of the car with painfully white light. 

In the liminal space between light and dark he can see the stoic profile of Bill’s face, looking as haggard as Holden feels after spending weeks in Atlanta surveying dump sites and scrambling to stop a killer.

The air outside is humid and thick, but it’s worse in here, in the close confines of the car where silence and tension are a heavy weight between them. The silence roars in Holden’s head and he wants to say something, say  _ anything,  _ but Bill has made it abundantly clear that any discussion of what happened between them is  _ not  _ happening. 

They’re painfully polite to each other when they aren’t being sarcastic and sharp, and Bill’s constant absence from the case to go home and deal with whatever his family emergency  _ really  _ is has left Holden floundering, head barely above the murky waters of the Chattahoochee that threaten to drown him. 

The panic he’d felt in Vacaville has returned, a low simmering boil, constant in the background of every thought and moment. He’s exhausted and worn thin, and without his partner to rely on, he feels like his head is going to slip under muddy waters, never to be seen again. 

When dawn rolls around Bill drives them back to the hotel in silence—another night with no sign of their killer. Another failure for Holden and his profile. 

He studies Bill in the shiny reflection of the elevator doors, the images warped because it’s metal and not a mirror, and he thinks maybe it’s  _ they  _ who are warped—distorted and twisted by the endless parade of bodies and death. 

Bill doesn’t say anything as they walk down the hall, doesn’t look at him, just leaves him behind to walk two doors down to his room and then he’s gone, without a glance back, into the depths of his room. 

Holden swallows hard against the urge to cry; crying never solved any problems anyway, and right now he’s got a mountain of them. 

The first thing he does when he gets inside is showers, washing off the sweat and stink of sitting in a sweltering car for ten hours. He lingers under the shower head, the beat of water against his skull helping to drown out some of the thoughts that seem to never end. 

When the water starts edging to cold he finally drags himself out, toweling off lazily before stumbling out to shut the curtains and cloak the room in false darkness. He doesn’t bother putting clothes on, just flops across the bed diagonally and drags a pillow under his head, eyes heavy and gritty with exhaustion. 

He sleeps and dreams of the dead and the missing. 

He slogs through waist high water, desperately trying to save the children, but all he finds is more death, till he’s surrounded by bodies and the acrid taste of foul water fills his mouth. 

Holden wakes with a gasp, drenched in sweat and breathing hard, the foul taste of death in his mouth so heavy that his gorge rises and bile fills his throat. He stumbles from the bed, tangled in the sheets for a moment, panic swelling within him as he whines frantically and tries to get free. 

There’s a knock at the door as he frees himself and half crawls half stumbles to the bathroom till his head is in the toilet and his meager meal from the day before is making a violent return. Distantly he hears more knocking and a loud male voice calling his name, but he can’t focus on anything other than the retching and the panic. 

“Holden what’s going on, we’re gonna be late,” he hears Bill call out just as another wave of nausea has him throwing up again. 

“Fuck, Holden what—” 

Tears blur in his eyes and his stomach hurts, muscles aching as his body tries to revolt, but there’s nothing left now, he’s empty, hollowed out. 

A hand lands on his shoulder, “Shit, Holden, are you sick?” Bill asks softly, sounding worried as his hand rubs gently over Holden’s back. 

He shakes his head weakly and pants, drool hanging from his lip so he spits and then spits again and Bill’s hand leaves his back and his presence at Holden’s side is gone. He can hear Bill moving and then the water running and then Bill is back, gently guiding him away from the toilet and into Bill’s chest. 

He closes his eyes and breathes heavily, shuddering when a warm damp cloth wipes over his brow and down his face, the touch so gentle and tender it makes tears burn in his eyes. 

“Here, sip this,” Bill whispers, and then glass is pressed to his lips and cool fresh water slides down his throat. He swallows eagerly, happy to get the taste of polluted river water and vomit out of his mouth. 

Bill’s arm around his waist keeps Holden pulled securely against his chest, and they stay like that for long, long minutes as the world slowly resettles around him. The warmth of Bill’s body is reassuring after the icy clutch of death had gripped him in his dreams and he can’t help but yearn to stay like this a little longer. 

Eventually though he realizes he’s naked and the cold tile floor isn’t comfortable at all, so he shifts away and struggles to his feet, as weak as a newborn lamb, face pinking when Bill’s broad hand lands on the back of his thigh and steadies him. 

It’s incredibly intimate, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t look at Bill, just shuffles out of the bathroom silently. He’s pulling on his pants when Bill emerges from the bathroom in his periphery and stands there silently, watching Holden intently. 

“You going to tell me what that was?” He demands. 

“I’m fine, I’m not sick, I’ll be ready to go shortly,” he replies, purposely skirting the question. The last thing he needs is for Bill to question his fitness like he had already done with OPR. 

He keeps his gaze averted as he pushes past Bill and goes to brush his teeth. He tidies his hair and washes his face and then studies himself for a moment in the mirror. He’s pale, but otherwise looks normal. 

He nearly runs into Bill as he comes out, but when he tries to skirt around Bill the older man catches his hand and pulls at him, his grey blue eyes soft and worried and it’s like a knife to his chest, seeing something in his gaze other than cold indifference.

“Let me go,” he orders quietly, tugging at his hand. 

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Bill insists, crowding closer to Holden, eyes pleading as he searches Holden’s face. “Holden,” he whispers, voice heavy with emotion as his free hand comes up to cup the back of Holden’s neck gently. 

Holden shivers at the touch, recalling the last time that Bill had touched him like this had ended in disaster. Still, he craves it, the warmth and strength that Bill so naturally exudes, and he finds himself swaying forward, dangerously close to the other man. 

“Was it a panic attack?” Bill asks softly, thumb caressing the arch of Holden’s throat, “you can tell me,” he assures Holden, “I just want to help.” His brilliant blue eyes are earnest and honest and oh god, how Holden  _ wants _ to sink into that comfort, but his heart rebels at the thought of that vulnerability being rejected. 

He shakes his head, “Not really, I had a nightmare and panicked, but it wasn't a panic attack.”

Bill looks thoughtful, nodding slowly. “Are you good to go for tonight?” he asks softly, “I can cover and tell them you’re sick if you’re not sure you’re up to it.”

Holden wants to feel offended or upset, or even placated, but all he feels is a warm rush of affection that makes his throat clog and his heart skip a beat. Ducking his head, he gives a minute shake of it and swallows hard, “I’m fine,” he whispers, and then makes himself to step away with enough force that Bill’s hands fall from his body. 

“You don’t need to worry, I’m fine,” he assures Bill before turning and grabbing his shirt off the bed. 

“Holden, you’re my partner,  _ of course _ I’m worried,” Bill says, sighing in exasperation. 

_ Partner _ , not friend, not anything else. 

Holden rolls a shoulder in a shrug, trying to hide the pain he’s in at Bill’s words, “And I’m saying you don’t have to be. I’m fine,” he says blandly, hoping his calm reassurance will get Bill to leave this alone. 

Instead Bill looks annoyed, countenance pinched as he scrubs a hand over his jaw and scoffs. “So what? I don’t give you an answer you like about us and you just shut me out?” he demands, shaking his head. “Real fucking mature Holden.”

His fingers fumble on the buttons of his shirt and Holden takes a deep shaking breath, trying to collect himself and then Bill softens and steps towards him, “You’re my partner Holden, you know I care about you, I mean, you’ve got to know that, right?” 

Holden stops trying to button the shirt and finally makes himself look up at Bill square on. The older man is looking at him pleadingly and Holden can feel his strength crumbling. He nods and clears his throat, looking away, “I know. But you aren’t here, you’re running back to Virginia and I’m struggling Bill. I don’t have my partner to lean on and it’s…” he swallows hard and shakes his head, “they don’t respect me like they do you. I need you,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry, things at home…” Bill trails off and Holden nods, “I know, I get it, I just...I need you too,” he says simply, shrugging tiredly. 

He finally manages to button up his shirt and tuck it into his trousers, all while Bill watches him with sad wanting eyes. He holsters his gun and attaches it along with his badge to his belt and then looks expectantly at Bill. 

“Ready?” 

Bill stares at him for a very long moment and then sighs heavily, nodding slowly like his head is too heavy to move. “As I’ll ever be,” he mutters, stepping aside to let Holden past him, his warm presence following close behind. 

It’s quiet in the elevators and Holden stares into the shining surface of the metal doors, his warped reflection staring back. 

* * *

The air feels thicker tonight, a miasma of longing and anticipation stewing between them in the car. It’s so hot and humid that Holden prays for rain for a little relief. Bill is just as silent as he is, staring out the drivers side as he smokes, one after the other, the tip of the cigarette burning red hot as he inhales, glowing in the murky darkness. 

Thunder rumbles in the distance once more but Holden has no faith that it will rain, not anymore. It’s like the sky is holding back the storm, like it’s holding its breath, just like the city below, waiting, waiting, waiting. 

“Do you think we’ll catch him?” he asks softly, staring out at the bridge, fingers clenching and unclenching into a fist where they hang out the window. 

Bill hums softly and Holden shifts to look over at him, watching as he finishes a cigarette and chases it with cold coffee. “The profile is good,” Bill murmurs, “he’s going to fuck up eventually.”

Holden nods and looks away again, a bead of sweat rolling down his throat to join the others that have fallen and stained the fabric of his shirt. 

A brush of fingers against his hand takes him by surprise; he looks swiftly down at where Bill is touching him and then up to meet his gaze, confusion and hope battling within him. “What are you doing?” he dares to ask, voice weak and breathy. 

“I don’t know,” Bill admits, a weak broken laugh dry in his throat, “I don’t know anything anymore Holden. I don’t know how to be a good father or a good husband, I don’t know when I stopped being those things if I ever even  _ was, _ ” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to be a good friend or partner either, I keep on letting you down and hurting you and I just don’t know anymore.”

His words make Holden want to protest, to shout that Bill  _ is  _ all of those things, but Bill shakes his head and cuts off anything Holden might say. “All I really know anymore is that I don’t know,” he says with a bitter hopeless laugh. 

“Bill,” he breathes out, wishing he had something real and tangible to say, but all he has is this, a soft utterance of sorrow. 

Bill smiles sadly at him and then leans in slowly, intent clear, and stupidly, Holden lets it happen. He closes his eyes, heart thrumming in his veins as Bill’s lips press to his oh so gently, as if he’s scared to touch Holden lest he shatter into a million pieces. 

Holden himself isn’t so sure he won’t, even as he craves the touch. 

He breathes out uncertainly,  _ knowing _ that this is a bad idea that will only lead to more heartbreak, and still, he allows it. He allows it when Bill’s fingers wind through his hair and pull him closer, his neck arching as Bill looms over him and kisses him deeply.

He allows it when he clings to Bill, fingers snarled in the sweat damp fabric at the back of his shirt, moaning softly as Bill pulls him closer still. 

He allows it when Bill finally pulls him across the seat and into his lap, hands desperately pulling Holden’s shirt from his trousers before diving under to slide up the hot sweaty expanse of his back. 

Holden moans as Bill’s hands slide back down his spine to grab onto his ass, forcefully grinding their hips together, his low appreciative growl followed closely by a rumble of thunder that sends tremors through the vehicle. 

Rain starts plinking softly against the hot steel roof, the patter growing slowly heavier as Bill’s fingers dig into the flesh of his ass, the heat of his cock a thick line against where Holden is hard too. 

Sweat beads on Holden’s brow, rolling down slowly to drip off his chin, a strangled groan in his throat when Bill surges up and licks it from his skin. Teeth follow; sharp and deep and Holden gasps like the lightning outside has struck him deep within, a shudder running over his spine when Bill does it again. 

The slick sound of their lips on skin has Holden burning up inside the stuffy interior of the car and when Bill starts working his belt loose sanity  _ finally _ returns. Holden pulls back, elbow knocking the steering wheel sharply as he fumbles to push Bill’s hands away. 

“No, don’t,” he gasps, moaning when Bill cups his cock and squeezes. “ _ Bill _ ,” he whines struggling to get away from the touch even as his body begs him for more.

He fumbles out of Bill’s lap, panting as he plasters himself to the side of the car, trying to catch his breath and steady himself. Bill slides closer and reaches out and Holden throws up a hand to stop him, fingers shaking as panic swells within him. 

“Please, please don’t,” he begs, emotion crowding his throat and tears already forming. He’s light headed and breathing shallowly, and it feels like everything is closing in around the edges, going grey as he struggles to breathe. 

Brow furrowing, Bill lowers his hand to the work leather seat, “Holden, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Holden can’t stop the half sob half laugh that rips out of him at that, flinching when cool rain spatters against his skin through the open window. “It’s too late for that,” he whispers, lips trembling, “god, Bill, I can’t do this,” he gasps, lungs sucking in air in great heaving gulps as panic threatens to consume him. 

He needs fresh air and he needs it  _ now. _

Fumbling for the door handle, he spills out onto the wet grass and mud, heedless of it staining his clothes as he claws his way up to the hood of the car and bows over it, heart racing just as badly now as it had in Vacaville. 

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches, stumbling away and nearly falling on his ass as Bill stares at him in shock and poorly disguised horror. 

“ _ Holden… _ ”

Shaking his head frenetically, he backs away, “Just don’t, please Bill, please don’t,” he begs. 

“Don’t  _ what _ ?” Bill demands, “I don’t know what I did!”

Holden sobs and laughs and feels like he’s drowning under the deluge of emotion, feels like maybe this is it, maybe he’s  _ finally _ going crazy. He laughs harder then, unable to tell if it’s tears or rain on his face as he sways and waves a hand between them. 

“This! God, look what I did Bill! I  _ ruined  _ you! I let you touch me and now you’re tainted by everything that’s wrong with me and I ruined it! I ruined all of it!” 

His voice grows frantic as he speaks, chest heaving and aching and he can’t stop, can’t breathe and  _ god _ the way Bill is looking at him right now is everything he always feared. 

_ Pity _

It cuts worse than any knife ever could. 

“I wanted you for  _ years _ and I tried to pretend I didn’t but it wasn’t enough, it seeped out like some, some,  _ toxin _ and infected you! I ruined your marriage and I’m destroying us and I need you to stop! I need you to stop, please, please Bill, just let me go!” 

Bill finally moves, determination furrowing his brow as he stalks forward and Holden stumbles away, uselessly trying to push him away. 

“No stop,  _ stop _ , please, just go, stop!” 

Bill’s arms wind around him, dragging Holden back against his chest, pinning Holden’s flailing limbs down firmly. Holden sobs and shakes and then finally goes limp when a warm set of lips press to the nape of his neck. 

“Shh, Holden, shhh,” Bill croons, rocking them back and forth gently. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he whispers brokenly, “I can’t…”

“Shh it’s okay, just breathe,” Bill murmurs soothingly. 

“I can’t,” Holden insists, “I can’t take it!” 

“Take  _ what?” _ Bill urges, lips pressing against the column of Holden’s throat so delicately it makes him sob. 

“You  _ kissing _ me and  _ touching _ me,” he breathes out, voice catching harshly. “These, these,  _ half measures  _ are  _ killing _ me,” he hiccups. 

“Half measures?” Bill asks, arms tightening around Holden and he shivers and cries. 

“You kiss me, but won’t tell me what you want. You’re going to break me,” he gasps out, a sob lurching from his chest as he tries not to imagine what they could have been like if there was no Nancy or Brian to complicate things. 

“Baby, I don’t want to break you,” Bill whispers, voice raw and broken with too much emotion and it  _ hurts _ , it cuts so deeply into Holden to hear him like this that herald expects to look down and see a blade sticking out of his ribs. “I want you,” he whispers, over and over again, holding onto Holden as they sway in place like a tree in the storm. 

“I can’t Bill, I can’t, it’s going to break me,” he sobs. “I want you too much and it’s  _ breaking _ me, and it’s ruining  _ you _ and I  _ can’t _ .” 

“Shh,” Bill whispers, “You're not ruining me,” he says intently, voice thick and sorrowful. He gives Holden a small shake when he tries to shake his head  _ no  _ in refutation. “You’re  _ not.”  _

“Please, just let me go,” he begs weakly, so tired now, so deeply exhausted that he thinks maybe he’ll just collapse here and be one more body found by the river. 

He feels it when Bill presses his brow to Holden’s neck, his breath hot on Holden’s skin. It sends shudders over his body and he quakes in Bill’s arms, gasping for air like a drowning fish. 

“ _ Holden _ .” 

He hears the heartbreak in Bill’s voice and it nearly shatters him apart, his mind and soul held together with duct tape and string, but somehow he finds a measly scrap of strength and breaks free of Bill’s arms, shaking as the sky shatters open above them and holy hell breaks loose. 

“Holden,  _ please,” _ Bill whispers, somehow louder than the thunder that rattles the ground. His face is twisted in grief, broad shoulders slumped and beaten down, a hand extended between them in silent offering. 

The air shudders with thunder and lightning and he steels himself with one last look at Bill’s face before he turns and starts walking toward the bridge. The other patrol car is on the other side. He’ll go and tell them that he and Bill are getting tired of each other and need a break. 

He hears his name shouted on the wind but forces himself not to look back. 

He  _ can’t _ , not when he knows that seeing the look on Bill’s face would send him straight back into his arms. 

He doesn’t look back. 

* * *

Holden shuts off the tv as yet another news report starts on the thrilling capture of the killer of Atlanta’s missing and murdered children. He doesn’t need to see it, not when he already sees their faces in his nightmares and has every name memorized and seared into the back of his eyelids. 

It’s been  _ two weeks _ and still, the fascination lingers. 

When he’d returned from Atlanta on that private jet with Bill and Ted he’d kept himself separate, secluded in silence as the others had celebrated with whiskey and smokes and laughter that grated on his nerves. 

Bill hadn’t tried to touch him or sit near him, but Holden had still felt the weight of his gaze more than once. If Ted had noticed the awkward air between them he hadn’t let on, but he had been concerned by Holden’s request for a few weeks off. 

Holden had lied and said his mother was doing poorly, and just like that the request had gone through without further question. He’d gone to see her to make up for the lie, but she didn’t recognize him anymore, not with the dementia eating away at her brain. 

His father was dead years ago so Holden stopped by his grave to stare at the headstone in silence, wondering what secrets his father had lived and died with, thinking of that picture he’d found so long ago now. He wondered if his mother knew his father's secrets and then decided it was useless to think about now. 

His time in Chicago was brief; a visit to Grant’s grave to stare sightlessly at the stone, feeling more empty and hollowed out than sorrowful or grief stricken. 

He’s numb, is what he is. 

He’d even gone back to Atlanta to stand on the bridge he’d walked away from Bill on and stared down into the murky waters of the Chattahoochee, wondering if more bodies lurked beneath the surface, yet to be found. 

He’s been home for a few days now, and has mostly found himself sitting and doing nothing, the tv going all hours of the day, his insomnia roaring back to life in the nighttime hours. 

It’s creeping towards twilight and Holden has the windows of his apartment open, the humid sticky air reminding him of Atlanta. He’s debating getting up off the couch to shut them and let the air conditioning run when a knock at the door startles him. 

He’s not expecting anyone, and the doorman hadn’t called to let anyone up. His instincts have him up and moving, grabbing his gun off the counter as he walks silently toward the front door. 

“Holden, it’s me, you there?” 

At the sound of Bill’s voice he stutters to a stop, staring at the door for a long moment, debating just pretending that he’s not here when Bill calls out again, “I saw the light on from the parking lot, I’m pretty sure you’re there.”

Cursing silently, Holden retreats and lays his gun on the counter before hurrying forward and unlocking the door. He forces himself to take a deep steadying breath, and then opens it. 

Bill looks the same as he ever did, is the first thing Holden notices. Just as handsome and devastating to Holden’s heart, his blue eyes gazing steadily back as Holden stares at him silently. The second thing he notices is that Bill looks just as tired and hollowed out as Holden feels. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks softly, fingers tapping on the cheap particle board door. 

Bill sighs and nods toward the interior of Holden’s apartment, “Can I come in? I’d rather not do this out here.”

Holden debates it for a few moments and then nods and steps aside, studying Bill as he steps forward. He’s dressed in khakis and a grey polo, but it’s his face that captures Holden’s attention (as it always has). 

There are new lines around his eyes and the dark circles etched under them are deeper than they used to be. He looks tired, worn thin, and it makes Holden’s heart ache painfully in his chest. 

Bill casts a glance around before shoving his hands in his pockets and meeting Holden’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I didn’t realize how deeply I was hurting you by trying to convince you to be with me until that night.” 

Holden just stares at him, stunned into silence by the admission. 

“You told me to make a decision and I didn’t, I just kept pushing it off and not dealing with it, refusing to see that I was hurting you and Nancy at the same time.” 

Holden finally manages a nod, shifting a few steps to lean against his counter, desperately needing the support. Bill watches him for a long moment and then continues speaking. 

“Nancy left and took Brian with her.” 

Bill swallows hard and looks away, “My kid witnessed three older boys murdering a toddler. Brian put together a cross and laid the baby on it, maybe thinking from church that it would bring him back.” 

Horror fills Holden at this new information, understanding filling him when he realizes this is why Bill had been gone so much in Atlanta, why he’d been short and ill-tempered so much of the time. “I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, feeling how inadequate the words are in the face of such horrible loss. 

Bill shakes his head, “He’s got a therapist and a social worker and Nancy has moved him to a new part of town and school so maybe…” he sighs heavily, “maybe it’s for the best. I was never a good dad to him. Maybe this will help him, maybe he’ll finally be...happy I guess.”

He sounds so utterly lost and broken that it brings tears to Holden’s eyes, sorrow like a knife in his throat. He wants to hug Bill, wishes he could make everything right between them with a few magic words, but nothing about this is easy, and nothing about trying to repair it is going to be easy either. 

With a heavy sigh he turns and fills up the coffee maker with grounds and water, pushes the button and then turns to face Bill, a weak smile on his face. “Why don’t we sit down?” he suggests, waving to the couch. 

Bill nods and follows along after him like a lost puppy, sinking down heavily on the couch next to Holden. They sit in silence for a few minutes as the coffee maker hisses and gurgles and spits, shoulders brushing gently. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” Bill admits quietly. “Everything I’ve ever known tells me to fight for my marriage, to do what she wants and to try and make her happy, but…” he shakes his head with a hopeless little laugh and tilts his head to the side to stare at Holden, “but then there’s  _ you.” _

The coffee pot clicks off and it’s like a knife through the tension that’s built slowly between them. Holden hurries from the couch and pours them both cups of coffee, adding cream and sugar to his and just sugar ( _ a lot _ of sugar) to Bill’s. The older man takes the offered mug carefully with a nod of thanks and Holden takes his seat again, switching to sit up against the arm of the couch so he can more fully face Bill. 

“So you want to fuck me? Or you want a relationship?” he asks, voice trembling at the end, hope daring to bloom in his chest. (Foolish foolish hope, it should know better by now.) 

Bill smirks faintly, “Both,” he tells Holden, shifting to sit back and turn towards him a little more. “And I have no fucking clue how to do that. I don’t know how to be a husband and a father let alone a boyfriend in a, a…” he trails off, huffing at his inability to put his thoughts into words. 

“In a gay relationship?” Holden offers softly. 

Bill nods and sighs again, “I don’t know what I’m doing Holden and it scares the shit out of me.”

Holden stares down at the caramel colored coffee in his mug, emotion clogging his throat. The path Bill is on right now is one that he’s been walking for years, scared and alone. Setting aside his mug carefully, he looks up at Bill and takes a deep breath before speaking. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing either, but I want to figure it out with you, if that’s what you want.”

Bill looks stunned by the admission, hope and fear and longing passing over his face rapidly before settling into determination. “Yes,” he says firmly, nodding, “I want that.”

Holden smiles and nods, “Wait here, I’ll be right back,” he instructs Bill, hurrying to his feet and back to his bedroom. It takes a few minutes of digging, but eventually he finds the metal lockbox in the back of his closet. 

His heart lurches as he carries it out to the small living area and sits back down beside Bill. His fingers tremble as they rub over the dusty surface for a moment before he unlocks it and lifts the lid. The hinges creak and he swallows hard as the contents are revealed. 

He lifts out a photo and glances over to find Bill staring at it intently. 

“This is me and the only other man I’ve ever loved,” he murmurs, choosing his words with care. Bill’s eyes go wide with shock and Holden smiles faintly, “His name was Grant.”

They spend the next few hours talking—about Holden’s childhood, his parents, but mostly about Grant and the tiny infinity that they had shared. He tells Bill about lying in bed with Grant and listening to baseball games on the radio as they sweated in the humid summer heat. 

He tells him about how terrifying it was falling in love with a man, how he’s hidden and repressed that side of himself for years, how he felt responsible for Grant’s death simply by being in his life. 

He tells him how scared he’d been to find himself falling for Bill, how he’d tried his hardest to ignore the feelings and focus on his relationship with Debbie, and how utterly he’d failed in both respects. 

In return Bill tells him about his life, his time in Korea and how for years after he’d returned he’d wake up screaming or have to fight the urge to hide in a dark closet at the sound of fireworks. 

Bill tells him about meeting Nancy and how they’d fallen in love, how they’d struggled for years to have children—how Nancy had sobbed each time they miscarried and how helpless he’d felt.

He’s never seen Bill cry, but when Bill talks about the daughter they’d almost had and the tiny coffin they’d buried her in, Holden can’t stop the tears from rolling down his own face, and it breaks his heart to see them shining on Bill’s too. 

By the time they run out of words it’s nearly three in the morning and they’re both exhausted, so Holden takes Bill’s hand and leads him back to his bedroom. He strips Bill slowly, kissing him gently, tenderly, a silent benediction of love that’s pressed to his lips and brow and chest. 

They crawl into bed and it feels as easy as breathing to press himself against Bill’s chest, delight running through him when Bill’s arms wrap around him and hold him tightly. 

He doesn’t think that either of them know any better now what they’re going to do, but they’re going to figure it out together, and that gives him peace.

He sleeps well for the first time in a very  _ long  _ time. 

* * *

The first time Bill stays the night after  _ that night  _ is a few weeks later when they’ve returned from Miami, sunburned and exhausted, but vindicated. They’d helped the local PD to capture a man who had been murdering prostitutes and then weighing them down in the swamps for the gators to eat. 

The oppressive humidity and heat had badly reminded Holden of Atlanta—Bill had held him together through two panic attacks in the ten days they were there, watching as Holden’s hands shook during the daylight hours and holding him tightly at night when he woke crying from nightmares. 

They go to Holden’s apartment from the airport, the rain against the windows tap tap tapping out a rhythm that’s soothing on both of their tired nerves, and when they  _ finally _ get inside they drop their briefcases and wearily hang their coats before stumbling back to Holden’s bedroom, stripping off wet clothes as they go. 

It’s June but they’re chilled down to the bone, so they dive beneath the covers and cling together, skin to skin till their bodies are warm and their eyes are heavy. They fall asleep together and wake up that way too, sleepy smiles and gentle touches that hold nothing but tenderness for them both. 

From there it’s easy to slip into an intimacy that Holden has been craving for years, and once they’re in it, there’s no going back. (Not that he would ever want to)

It’s the little things that Holden treasures the most; the way Bill will smile around his toothbrush as they stand beside each other in the bathroom, the way Bill will slide his arms around Holden’s waist and kiss his neck while he makes dinner, the way that even when they’re at work Bill will smile at him softly, tenderly, when no one is looking. 

They take things slow, for both their sakes. 

Bill has never been with a man and Holden knows it’s scary for him—sometimes they’ll be kissing on the couch or in bed and Holden will moan and arch into Bill and he can  _ feel _ it when the realization hits Bill—this is a  _ man _ he’s kissing and touching. 

For Holden it’s not new exactly, but it  _ is  _ in the sense that this is  _ Bill;  _ his friend and partner and someone he hadn’t been allowed to have for so long that it sometimes strikes him out of nowhere that he  _ shouldn’t  _ be doing this. When he yanks his hand back or holds himself back from an embrace he can see the understanding in Bill’s eyes shortly before he’s pulled into a tight hug. 

So it’s slow, and steady, and sometimes painfully awkward. 

But mostly, it’s good. 

Really  _ really  _ good, if Holden is honest. 

Better than he ever could have imagined, and more than he  _ ever _ could have hoped for if he’d indulged and allowed himself to think about it before this. 

For the first time in ages, Holden is happy. 

* * *

It’s been three months since they officially got together and Holden is  _ nervous.  _ Bill will be here soon and Holden has done everything he can to make sure tonight is  _ perfect.  _ He bought thick juicy steaks and has a great bottle of red wine breathing and while he knows Bill will appreciate those things, it’s the  _ other  _ preparations he’s made that have his nerves jangling. 

They’ve traded hand jobs and blow jobs for about two months now, but until now, neither of them have been ready for more. 

Or, to be more accurate, they’ve both  _ desired  _ more, but needed time to talk about the mechanics of how things would work. 

_ That  _ had been an interesting conversation, to say the least—Bill had been two parts fascinated and aroused and one part vaguely disgusted by the details behind anal sex, and Holden had been been embarrassed, but done his best to push it aside in favor of speaking on the topic as if it was something clinical and detached.

Holden had taken care during his shower to clean himself as thoroughly as he could after he’d spent time on his hands and knees with an enema bulb and an extremely flushed face. Just thinking about it makes his stomach clench and heat flash through his belly. 

He’s not hard, but he is thrumming with excitement and when Bill’s key jangles in the lock Holden sucks in a shaky breath, fingers trembling as he balls them into fists—clench and release, clench and release.

Bill smiles warmly at him and steps forward to kiss him as he loosens his tie, humming when Holden slides his hands up Bill’s broad back and arches into him. “Hmm, that’s a nice hello,” Bill says, “did you miss me?” he asks teasingly.

Holden loops his arms around Bill’s neck and nods, “I always miss you,” he murmurs honestly. Bill’s face softens and he leans in for another kiss, hands sliding down Holden’s back to grab onto his ass. Holden gasps softly and kisses Bill harder, a thrill running through him when Bill groans softly and maneuvers them till Holden’s back is against the wall.

A thick thigh wedges between Holden’s legs and he gasps at the pressure on his cock, groaning softly as he rolls his hips and kisses Bill sloppily. “Damn baby, you must have  _ really  _ missed me,” Bill whispers hoarsely, chuckling softly. 

Holden nips at his jaw and nods, nuzzling under his chin to press wet kisses to the warm skin of Bill’s throat. “I’ve been thinking about this all week,” he admits, teeth and tongue working to leave a mark on Bill’s throat even though he knows he probably shouldn’t. 

“Me too,” Bill whispers, throat working hard under Holden’s mouth as Holden rocks his hips forward and grinds his hip into where Bill is growing hard in his trousers. “ _ Fuck,” _ Bill gasps, “ _ baby.” _

“I have steaks and wine,” Holden tells him and then grinds his hips forward again, “unless you want to save that for later.” Bill groans and Holden smirks against his throat, licking a stripe up to Bill’s jaw before biting down gently. “Up to you.”

Bill laughs weakly, hands flexing on the handfuls of Holden’s ass he’s grabbed, pushing back slightly and resting his forehead against Holden’s. Bill’s eyes are  _ so  _ blue like this—like some of the sky has fallen and taken up residence inside a person. 

“How about steak and wine first and then…” he trails off suggestively, lifting a brow as he smirks. 

Holden leans in for a kiss and nods, “Sounds good to me,” he agrees, tongue flicking out to taste Bill’s mouth one last time before he pulls away and smiles softly at him. “Why don’t you get comfortable and I’ll get the steaks going?” 

Bill nods and leans in for a quick peck on the lips before he turns away and heads down the hallway to Holden’s room. Holden had bought a new dresser a few days ago to accommodate the things Bill had begun leaving each time he stayed, and by now the top two drawers are filled with work and casual clothes, spare pairs of underwear and socks and a few of Bill’s ugly ties. 

When Bill had been gone Holden had found himself running his fingers over Bill’s shirts, leaning in to inhale the lingering scent of Old Spice and tobacco, yearning for his return. 

He goes to work heating up the cast iron skillet and pouring out wine, sipping on his as he turns up the oven so the potatoes roast in time. He hears footsteps and then the record player turns on and Duke Ellington starts playing. Holden smiles softly as a set of arms slide around his waist, followed closely by a set of lips on his neck. 

“Missed you,” Bill murmurs, lips pressing against his skin. Holden hums softly in agreement and lets Bill sway them side to side, both of them enjoying just being close and together. Bill’s lips travel up to brush his hairline and then nuzzle into his curls, the steady deep breaths he takes soothing and calm. 

Bill separates himself when the steaks are done and helps Holden fill their plates with food before they sit down together at his tiny dinner table. More and more Holden has thought how utilitarian his apartment is, and it’s most certainly not built for two adult men, but he’s certain that it’s too soon for them to move in together, despite how much his heart aches for that. 

It feels nearly impossible, this wanting that fills him every day. He wants to have Bill with him always, wants to be together openly and without fear, wants to be  _ happy _ . More than anything, he just wants them to be happy. 

They discuss the case Bill had been been consulting on over dinner, but Holden plays coy under the table, his bare foot creeping into Bill’s lap to rub against the curve of his cock over and over again, the flush in his cheeks matching the one on Bill’s face as they finish the wine and sit staring at each other for a long minute. 

“Let’s leave the dishes for later,” Holden suggests, rising to his feet to offer his hand to Bill. The older man takes it without hesitation and lets Holden tow him along, back to the bedroom, and then waits patiently while Holden goes around the room and lights all the candles he’d bought to try and make the room more atmospheric.

Holden flushes when he sees the way Bill watches him, fond amusement in his gaze as Holden steps close and slides his arms around Bill’s waist. “What’s all this about?” Bill asks softly, nodding at the candles. “You know you don’t need all of that to get me in bed,” he jokes. 

Holden smiles, swallows hard and nods, “I know, but uh, I was thinking, if you want, maybe this time we could…” he trails off, not wanting to say something as cliche as  _ go all the way,  _ but he’s at a loss for a better way to phrase it when Bill leans in to kiss just below his ear and whisper, “Maybe I could fuck you?” 

Holden goes hot and shivery at that, nodding unevenly. “Yea, if you want,” he whispers, voice hoarse with desire. Bill lifts a hand to trace the lines of Holden’s face slowly, gaze intent as his fingers brush over Holden’s brow and then down his nose, forefinger resting in the dip above Holden’s lip for just a moment before slipping down to press between his lips. 

Holden shifts his head forward to take Bill’s finger deeper, tongue swirling around it just like he does to Bill’s cock when he’s sucking him off, and the answering groan from the man is rewarding all on its own, but then Bill slips a second finger into his mouth and Holden moans, eager for more. 

“ _ Fuck,” _ Bill breathes out, looking stunned and aroused and  _ god  _ Holden is so hard already. 

Holden pulls away regretfully, panting softly, “Bed,” he whispers, grinning when Bill makes a low hungry sound and steps away, hands tugging at his shirt eagerly. Holden follows, shedding his clothes and sharing sloppy sweet kisses with Bill till they’re both naked and falling onto the bed. 

He crawls into Bill’s lap, gasping softly when his cock drags against Bill’s soft belly, leaning in to kiss him hungrily. Bill’s hands grip his hips firmly, lips curling up into a smile where they’re pressed to Holden’s at the sound Holden makes when his fingers sink into the flesh of his ass. 

“Christ baby, this ass drives me to distraction,” Bill murmurs, lips pressed to Holden’s throat, chuckling softly. “I see you at work and all I can think about is getting my hands on it.” His hands slip down to fully grab Holden’s ass, grip nearly bruising and Holden moans, arching into the touch.

“What would you do?” Holden asks breathlessly, gasping when Bill sucks a mark onto his throat, teeth sharp against his skin, bruising and deep and Holden moans, cock leaking eagerly. 

“Fuck, I think about dragging you to the file room and getting down on my knees and sucking you off,” Bill whispers, mouth sliding wetly over Holden’s throat, affixing to a new point with a kiss and a bite that leaves Holden’s head spinning. “I’d get my hands on this ass and slip my fingers back to touch you where I know you want me the most.”

Holden shudders and moans when Bill does just that, two blunt fingers pushing against his hole, the pressure leaving him gasping and squirming as heat rushes up his spine and leaves him dizzy. “Fuck,  _ please,” _ he gasps, leaning in for a desperate and uncoordinated kiss as Bill rubs his fingers against his hole, over and over again. 

The dry friction burns ever so slightly, and when Holden’s cock rubs into Bill’s belly he gasps and moans at the heady sensations. Bill’s fingers wind through his hair, tugging his head back and exposing his throat and Holden shudders at being so vulnerable and open. 

“Fuck, you make such sweet sounds baby,” Bill groans, tongue swiping over Holden’s nipple before he sucks on it hard, sending shocking pleasure through Holden’s chest. “I get hard sitting in my office, thinking about you,” he murmurs, teeth nipping at the tender tip of Holden’s nipple. 

Holden’s gasp is hitching and wet, mouth slack as he moans softly. “I think about fucking you over my desk,” Bill whispers hoarsely, switching to the other nipple. “Make you go back out after with my cum leaking out of you,” he says before sucking hard on the nipple and tweaking the other with his fingers so Holden keens and cries out. 

His cock is so hard it hurts and he can feel how wet he is, but Bill doesn’t touch him beyond the incidental press of his cock against Bill’s belly. Holden wants to cry as Bill spends long torturous minutes on his nipples, murmuring indecently filthy things till Holden is moaning loudly and squirming, sure he’s going to come just from this.

He finally has to push Bill away, moaning as his sore and throbbing nipples pucker in the cool air after being kept warm and wet by Bill’s mouth. Bill smirks and tweaks one, laughing softly when Holden’s body spasms and he moans sharply, trembling at the sheer overwhelming feeling. 

“S-stop,” he protests weakly, laughing at how wrecked his own voice is before he leans in and kisses Bill hungrily, moaning when those big rough hands grab his ass once more. “I want to come with you inside me,” he whispers against Bill’s mouth, satisfaction swelling within him when he feels Bill’s cock throb against his ass.

Holden leans over and grabs the lube out of the bedside table, grabbing a condom as well and shows them to Bill. The older man’s face is open and relaxed, like he’s unconcerned that they’re finally crossing this boundary, and Holden isn’t sure if that’s true or if Bill is just utilizing his damn near perfect poker face. 

“I did some prep before you got here, so a condom isn’t exactly required if you’re worried about, uh,  _ mess,”  _ he tells Bill. Heat flushes his cheeks at the smirk that appears on Bill’s face and he barrels on, “We’re both clean,” he reminds Bill, “and I um, I want to feel you inside me,” he whispers, face hot with embarrassment.

Bill’s eyes go dark and he grabs the condom and tosses it aside without looking, “Good,” he growls, “because I want to see what you look like with my cum spilling out of you,” he whispers hotly before kissing a moaning Holden. They get lost in it for a few moments before Holden pushes him away again and takes Bill’s hand and with shaking fingers coats two of Bill’s with lube. 

He guides Bill’s hand back and inhales raggedly at the cool touch, his gaze steady on Bill. Bright blue eyes watch him in return, hungry and intent as one thick finger pushes into him in a smooth, steady glide that takes his breath away. 

Bill’s lips part as surprise fills his eyes, “You’re so hot inside,” he whispers, finger working in and out slowly, the sensation sending shivers over Holden’s skin. Holden swallows thickly and nods, unable to speak as Bill leans up slightly and starts kissing his throat again as his finger thrusts gently inside him. 

Holden shivers and moans, gasping softly when a second finger presses in alongside the other, lips trembling as he presses a shaky kiss to Bill’s mouth. “Fuck,” he whispers hoarsely, “I’ve imagined this so many times,” he tells Bill, panting softly. 

Bill’s eyes are dark and hungry when he pulls back slightly to get a better look, and Holden feels pinned in place, held between that steady gaze that’s entranced him since the beginning and the full feeling of Bill’s fingers inside him. 

It’s all nearly too much and he whimpers softly when his cock twitches and pulses, a pearlescent drop of cum sliding down the shaft slowly. Holden ducks his head to Bill’s shoulder, gasping in small shallow breaths as Bill’s fingers slide in and out of him so easily. He feels slick and hot and open and it’s not nearly enough—he  _ needs  _ Bill’s cock inside him. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he gasps out against Bill’s shoulder, lips sliding wetly against his skin, “another.” Bill groans and nods, turning his head to press a wet kiss to the hinge of Holden’s jaw before he pulls his fingers out till just the tips rest inside Holden and then he’s pressing back in with a third and Holden can’t bite back the whimper that’s grates out of his throat at the sensation. 

Bill pauses and kisses his throat soothingly, “You okay?” he asks softly, “doesn’t hurt does it?” 

Holden shakes his head weakly, brow sweaty where it’s pressed into Bill’s muscular shoulder. “It’s good,” he gasps out, “so good.  _ God _ , Bill, I want you inside me,” he whispers, voice nearly a whimper. He feels shaky with how intent the need is to have Bill inside him, and when Bill’s fingers sink into him and crook just right, Holden cries out loudly, lights dancing behind his eyes at the rush of pleasure through his veins. 

“There!” he gasps, “oh god, do that again,” he demands breathily, moaning when Bill rumbles out a growl of pleasure and starts fucking his fingers into Holden, making sure they pass over that same spot over and over again. 

Pleasure burns in his gut and he’s shaking and moaning as his cock leaks, breath sobbing out of him now as Bill’s fingers move relentlessly within him. Pressure builds and builds in his gut and he can’t speak, can barely breathe, and then his cock twitches and spills between them, the fire in his veins consuming him. 

Holden sobs, nails digging into the flesh of Bill’s back as he comes, entirely untouched. 

His head feels as light as the clouds and he’s breathing like he just ran a marathon, pleasure singing in his veins. Bill’s hand rubs up and down his back slowly and he hums happily when Bill shifts and nudges his head up for a long, lingering kiss. 

“That was beautiful,” Bill whispers, “god Holden, I…” he trails off and shakes his head, looking awed as he kisses Holden again, the kiss tender and sweet. “You were incredible,” he says with a soft, fond chuckle, the fingers of his clean hand coming up to gently tilt Holden’s jaw so Bill can kiss him softly, slowly. 

Holden swallows hard and breathes unsteadily for a minute as Bill presses kisses over his face, the fingers of his other hand still deep within Holden’s body. He’s half hard, and now that he has his breath back a bit, he’s ready for more. 

Shifting in place, Holden gasps softly and laughs weakly, “Take your fingers out I want your cock,” he tells Bill, grinning when the older man makes a choked off sound of surprise, gasping softly when his fingers slide out with a slick sound that makes his body clench down in responses. 

“Sit up a bit,” Bill murmurs, tapping on Holden’s hip with his free hand. Holden shifts and hovers above him, smiling tenderly as he watches Bill’s face while the man slicks up his cock. Maybe it’s not the most romantic moment for him to be swelling with love, but he is anyway. 

Tapping Bill’s cheek gently, he raises his brows and grins at the older man before leaning down and kissing him thoroughly, deeply, in the way he knows make Bill lose it every time. “I fucking love you Bill,” he whispers, watching the way Bill’s eyes go wide as he takes the opportunity to sink down, breathing going shaky as he reaches back and guides Bill’s cock into him. 

The blunt pressure at his rim has him gasping and shuddering, nails scraping over Bill’s shoulders, a whine catching in his throat. “Fuck,” he whimpers, the stretch unbelievable. Bill is thick, nearly as large around as Holden’s wrist and long too—so long that it seems to take forever to get it all inside him, and when he finally does he’s shaking and whining and so full he wants to sob.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ Bill exhales, looking stunned as his fingers slip down Holden’s ass to brush against where they’re joined. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “ _ Holden _ , you feel so  _ good _ ,” he grates out, looking awed. 

Holden gasps when he feels Bill’s cock twitch inside him, and when he clenches down in response it rips a groan from both of them and a thrust of Bill’s hips that punches a sharp cry from his throat and has him chasing the sensation. 

Holden lays shaking hands on Bill’s shoulders and adjusts his knees, gasping at the shift of Bill’s cock inside him. Bill grips his thighs and leans back against the headboard, gaze steady and intent as Holden starts riding him slowly. 

The first thrust down has Holden crying out weakly, gasping Bill’s name as his cock pushes into him, the pressure on his rim intense and nearly too much but it only makes him want  _ more.  _

“Christ, baby, don’t stop,” Bill moans, cheeks flushed pink, strands of hair where he’s let it grow out sticking to his forehead as he stares adoringly at Holden. His thumbs rub soothing circles into the insides of Holden’s thighs as he carries on his rolling rhythm, gasping and moaning. 

Holden arches and gasps, eyes rolling back as Bill’s cock presses into him, spreading him wide and settling a deep ache in his belly, a burning grasping need that has him hitching out tiny sobs of pleasure. 

Bill's hands slide up his thighs and one closes around Holden’s cock, but he knocks it away quickly, gasping and shaking his head. “Not yet, I want,” he pants for breath, trying to put his thoughts into words, “I want to keep feeling like this,” he whispers, voice trembling with emotion. 

Bill’s bright blue eyes shine with emotion and he nods intently, hands sliding up Holden’s chest to thumb at his sore nipples for a moment before leaning up off the headboard to kiss Holden. 

Sweat rolls down his spine as they fuck, almost painfully slow, trading long lingering kisses that slip and slide, breaths gasping against their faces and adding to the humid slick heat between them. Bill’s fingers slip on his skin, tracing down his spine and then delving into the cleft of his ass, fingers digging in to spread him wide—so wide it tugs on his rim and Holden shakes as he lets out a trembling moan of Bill’s name. 

His thighs burn and his cock aches with the need to come and then Bill thrusts up hard, hiding his face in Holden’s throat as he groans and bites at the tender skin. “Fuck,” he chokes out, “baby, I can’t,” he gasps, “I’m so close.”

Holden nods and gathers his strength, fucking himself down hard, whining sharply at the bruising force Bill meets him with. He sobs—he’s sore and overworked and each thrust has Bill’s cock bullying it’s way into him, and god,  _ god,  _ it isn’t nearly enough. 

Sobbing for breath, Holden grabs his cock between them and finds Bill’s mouth with his; lips sliding against his mouth wetly as they moan and pant into the sloppy slide of the kiss. “Bill,” he begs, “please, please.” 

He doesn’t know what he wants, he just knows if he doesn’t get it soon he’s going to break down into tears and then Bill whispers his name and thrusts up hard and fast, a punishing pace that has Holden’s eyes blowing wide open as heat lightning sears him from the inside out. 

His hand is sloppy on his cock, and then Bill closes his hand around Holden’s and  _ squeezes _ , and just like that, Holden comes. He sobs through it, shaking and gasping as his cock spills over their joined hands and he can hear distantly as Bill curses and moans his name, but he’s too far gone to muster a reply. 

Bill groans and bites his collarbone, hips snapping up hard and fast a half dozen more times before he’s spilling hot against the bruised and tender walls of Holden’s insides, and the sweet ache of it has tears pearling on Holden’s lashes. They fall, soothing on the heated skin of his cheeks and he collapses forward, hands shaking as he grabs onto the headboard and lets his trembling body come to a rest. 

They cling to each other like that for a long time, even after their skin has started to cool and the cum on their hands has gone tacky. The air smells like sex and Old Spice and red wine and Holden dizzily thinks that it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled. 

Eventually though they have to move. 

Holden rolls off Bill and lays there gratefully as the older man rises with a groan and quip about being worn out. He’s back a few minutes later with a warm damp cloth to wipe Holden down, tossing it aside before he climbs back into bed and rolls on his side, smiling softly, eyes grey blue and warm. 

Holden reaches out and traces his fingers over his jaw, smiling faintly when Bill turns and kisses them one by one. “What you said before,” he murmurs, and Holden suddenly realizes that yea, he said  _ that  _ in the middle of sex. “I love you too,” Bill murmurs before pressing a kiss to Holden’s palm, the lines around his eyes feathering softly as he smiles. 

It’s such a beautiful look that Holden’s breathing hitches for a moment before he leans into Bill and kisses him, smiling wider when Bill whispers it against his lips, and then again and again as he presses Holden back into the sheets and proceeds to prove it over and over, all night. 

* * *

  
Bill watches as Brian colors, studying the way he holds the crayon, how firmly he presses down on the page and watches as an image slowly takes form. “That looks great buddy,” he murmurs, pleasure shooting through him when Brian nods and whispers  _ thanks.  _

To most other people it wouldn’t be much, but to him it feels like he’s just won a huge unexpected prize. Nancy rounds the corner and smiles softly, crooking a finger, so he gets up off her new couch and follows her into the kitchen. 

She leans against the counter and studies him before shaking her head and smiling faintly, “You look good,” she murmurs, “happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

He can’t tell her  _ why _ , obviously, but he nods anyway, “Things have been good lately,” he agrees. “I’m glad Brian is doing well in school and that business is going good for you,” he tells her sincerely. 

“Things  _ are  _ good,” she agrees, staring at him for a moment, studying him. “I thought you’d fight me more on custody,” she murmurs, “I appreciate that you didn’t.”

It had nearly killed Bill to agree to the terms of the custody arrangement, but in the end he knew it was more important to think about what Brian wanted and what was best for him. “It’s best for Brian. And if things ever aren’t working out I want to work  _ with  _ you to make a new agreement,” he tells her sincerely. 

Nancy studies him for a long quiet moment, her gaze intense and for a moment he’s reminded of the fact that she’s known him for twenty years. She’s seen him through the worst of his years after Korea and through losing babies and now, their marriage is over. 

“You’re happier than I think you’ve ever been,” she says softly, “happier than you were with me, anyway.”

He makes a weak objection and she laughs softly, lifting a hand, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be. We might not be together anymore, but I want you to be happy.”

He’s even more surprised by her hug than he was by her words, but he hugs her back nonetheless. Even if she’s not his wife in name anymore, she’ll always be a part of his life, and he’s happy with that. “I’ll always love you Nance,” he whispers, throat thick with emotion. 

“I know, I’ll love you too,” she replies softly, voice hoarse and unsteady. Eventually she pulls back and laughs softly, wiping under her eyes and then across his cheek to catch the tear that had fallen there. “What a mess we are,” she says softly, voice lighter than before. 

He grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles, heart aching in his chest. “Thank you,” he whispers, “for making me a better man.”

Nancy’s brows rise at that, but she doesn’t argue, just nods and rises up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Say goodbye to Brian before you go,” she admonishes gently, patting his chest before she steps away and turns back to making what looks like chicken and rice with mushroom soup casserole. 

Brian’s favorite. 

He sits with his son for a few more minutes and even tries his hand at coloring, though the result isn’t much better than Brian’s childish artwork, and it makes him chuckle softly, but Brian looks mildly pleased when Bill hands it over. 

In return he gets a picture of Brian and he and Nancy at the zoo, holding hands and standing in front of a cage of tigers. He presses a kiss to Brian’s hair and whispers a hoarse thank you before he steals a hug goodbye and waves to Nancy on his way out. 

Things aren’t perfect—the divorce isn’t quite final yet, but still, Nancy is right, he’s happier than he’s been in a long time.

A smile breaks out on his face when he thinks about why, foot pressing down harder on the gas pedal, eager to get home.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I saw this on Tumblr and I think it's a lovely idea--feel free to copy and paste into your own fics!!
> 
> Emoji Key for those who don't know what to say in the comments!
> 
> ❤ = you wish you could kudos again  
> 😭 = I got you right in the feels  
> 🔥 = this was so hot!  
> 🐰 = it’s so fluffy!


End file.
